


So the Hunter Became the Hunted

by TrappedInAPentagram



Category: SCP - Containment Breach, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, M/M, Mark and Jack are SCPs, POV Multiple, Points of View, Survival Horror, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 22:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11135595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrappedInAPentagram/pseuds/TrappedInAPentagram
Summary: You're a guard at the SCP foundation. You've trained extensively for this job, but nothing could prepare you for a real emergency--not like this.You're a prisoner. A human test subject, always looked down upon, never trusted, never shown a shred of dignity.If you had any chance of escape, you'd take it. Today's your golden opportunity.You're a monster. Misunderstood. Angry. Trapped. Bloodthirsty. Relentless. When you're challenged, you face it. But these new monsters are a threat unprecedented.





	1. The Surveillance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Creepy affection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10142744) by [RealBlueBerry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealBlueBerry/pseuds/RealBlueBerry). 



> FAIR WORD OF WARNING. this point of view will change. quite a bit. it will always be from the point of view of you, the reader, however the character you're portrayed as will change. i'm thinking each chapter will be from a different person's perspective, but I'll do my best to clarify every time. more notes at the end :)

You take a sip of coffee. It's creamy, and it warms your throat all the way down to your stomach in a comforting way. You tended to bring a warm drink with you for your shift, as the facility was always chilly. Getting a drink from SCP-294 was always a distinct possibility, though extremely inadvisable. 

The padded chair creaks in protest as you lean back, studying the array of monitors before you. A few guards patrol the halls, as everyone's shift was changing right about this time. You were in for another long night. Your focus is drawn to your coworker as he finishes sorting some files into the metal cabinet in the corner. "You got everything you need?"

"Yeah," you reply lazily, "just another rollicking night of fun." You flash a smile that's overly enthusiastic and give a thumbs up as to be clear you're being sarcastic.

He snorts, scoffing, "Always is. Stay safe."

"Thanks, Jim," you reply, idly watching him flash his ID in front of the scanner by the door, the metal sliding open with a resounding 'whoosh'. As he steps out, you turn back to the monitors, hearing the door shut behind you. Your partner in crime for the night was late, as per usual. She generally ended up taking her time communing with the SCP's that weren't in heavy detainment. You were still convinced her intrigue of the SCP's was going to get her killed. Be that as it may, you let her have her fun, as she'd learn her lesson one way or another eventually.

You take another drink, eyes flicking between the screens before you. Being on surveillance certainly wasn't the worst job at the facility. One of the screens was pitch black--SCP-096 was shy, to say the least. You casually press the button that'd allow you to hear the audio in its room. Nothing new, just the SCP's normal sobs of depression. Or maybe it was cries of anger. Who knew with that one, really. So long as no one had been stupid enough to look at its face, it was probably just upset at its own ugliness. No one really understood why 096 thought of itself in such little regard, but then, no one had bothered to ask. Not like it would respond, anyway.

The corded phone on the desk rings, a rather obnoxious _Brrrrr, brrrrr, brrrrr_ that makes you quickly pick up if only to avoid having to listen to the ringtone. The masculine voice you determine to be your superior-in-command on the other end says, "Betcha no one told you we finally got the other one."

You immediately sit up, eyes widening marginally. "What?" you blurt in surprise, knowing exactly what he meant. 

"Yup, practically turned itself in. Poor bastard looked distraught as hell. I almost felt sorry for it." Your boss was one of many in the foundation who referred to every SCP as 'it', preferring not to assign any genders in order to make themselves feel better about the inhumane treatment of the majority of the detained beings.

You frown at his words. It wasn't like an SCP to come in willingly, unless it was an inanimate object. Particularly when the SCP in question was..."You're talking about 1000-B, right?"

"Of course I mean 1KB," he replies. A lot of people had taken to shortening the new SCPs' official numbers to 1KA and 1KB. "We need you to keep an eye on the transfer process. It's being moved to the heavy containment zone."

You run a hand through your hair. "Alright, sure," you hear yourself replying through the shock which hadn't entirely dissipated. Were they idiots? "Are...sir, with all due respect, are you sure it was a good idea bringing him in at all?"

"I'd rather risk having him in here than out in the public," the boss replies. 

"That's not entirely my concern, sir."

"We're built to contain these things. Ain't no way it's getting out. We're making the move in T minus five."

"Roger," you reply, your throat suddenly dry. The line goes dead with a whirring flat tone. You hang up and take a long drink, realizing your hand had started to shake. Everyone in the building had heard the story of the capture of 1KA, the triumph spreading like wildfire that such a powerful SCP had been taken in with minimal losses. However, the stories of 1KB were nothing if not equally horrific as the atrocities committed by 1KA. The two were discovered as a team, nigh inseparable. Apart, they were strong.

Together, they were unstoppable.

You'd been briefed on the files, everyone had. Every available scrap of information on both SCP's was drilled into the brain of every guard and scientist in the facility. 1KA, described as a demon inhabiting a male humanoid body, always found wearing a tuxedo. His eyes were pitch black, two voids that reflected no light. Eyewitnesses reported that when they're in the area nearby 1KA, the surrounding room is distorted, 1KA himself appearing to flicker like a computer glitch, his body surrounded by lines of red and blue like one might see on an object being rendered with a 3D effect. 1KA was cool, collected, and prideful, though seemed prone to random bouts of rage. He called himself "Darkiplier," or just Dark, for short.

1KB, the counterpart, was 1KA's opposite in almost every sense of the word. Described as another demon inhabiting a male humanoid form, this SCP was unpredictable. By all accounts, he was a sociopathic lunatic. He didn't care for his appearance nearly as much as Dark, often seen wearing a leather jacket and tattered jeans. His ears were pointed, his eyes a neon green that glowed with malice, and his smile--gods above, his smile. His mouth split through his cheeks, quite literally able to grin from ear to ear, as you'd heard it. He'd been seen using his sharp teeth to tear victims apart. Only one living eyewitness had ever been able to describe an ability this SCP used, and it defied all laws of nature. But then, what else was new at this foundation. The only thing the witness could say was a garbled mix of the words 'tar,' 'tentacles,' and 'shadows,' leaving a mystery you weren't sure you wanted solved. You supposed you'd have a nickname for the new creature by some time the next day, depending how much he liked to talk. 

You shuddered--knowing 1KA was in the same building was bad enough, but now you had the dynamic duo to take care of. You focus on a screen where a light indicating a heavy containment door had been opened, and there he was. The new SCP was easy to pick out among the fully-armored guards, not least of all because of the chains binding the creature's legs and arms and neck. 1KB had dyed green hair, which was something new for an SCP. You notice that his mouth had been clamped shut with a mask similar to the ones used on cannibals, blocking your view to confirm the rumors of his wide smile. The SCP had four guns fixed on him from behind, though he hardly looked concerned. In fact, you note with trepidation that there's no anger in the SCP's eyes. From what you can tell, he almost looks...happy. Elated, even. You move your hand to hover over the phone, debating whether or not you should call your superior and inform him of your worries. He'd probably just tell you that 1KB was known to act a little psychopathic. 

You draw your hand back, focusing instead on the camera feed for 1KA. His room was quiet, Dark sitting cross-legged on the cushion he'd been given as a bed with no frame. That's precisely when you noticed he was looking at you. Not just the camera--you could feel it. He was looking _at you_. Your stomach churned, goosebumps rising across your skin that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. In that moment, you knew he knew. You knew Dark was somehow aware 1KB had been brought in. 

Your gaze focuses back on the screen that depicted where 1KB was being relocated. Somehow you weren't surprised to find that 1KB was looking at you, too, the smile blocked by the mask entirely evident in his eyes.

Your hand shoots for the phone, snatching it and yanking it from its base. The moment the speaker is against your ear, you hear the sirens. You'd been through the drill plenty of times to know the lock-down procedure. The phone dropped from your hand. You knew what that sound meant. Something was coming.

An SCP had escaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yes, for those following my other works I did say I wouldn't start this until after my current works were finished, but dang it to heck I was feeling inspired so here's the deal. I'm probably not going to update this sucker very fast. it might take a looong time to update this, and for that I apologize profusely ahead of time. I'll do my best to juggle three fics at once, just for you lovely readers X3


	2. The Guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i'll probably do at least two more chapters in quick succession including this one just to give everyone a feel for what this whole fic is going to be like. later on the timeline will probably continue seamlessly from the last pov, but for the time being assume these next two chapters are also like the first--leading up to the breach :3

You weren't sure if there was a deity to thank for not being one of the poor bastards on the retrieval team. The casualties it had taken to bring in 1KA were catastrophic. Of course, the scientists in the building didn't give a damn about the soldiers who roamed the halls. You, your teammates, the people you'd come to think of as your family away from home--the scientists only saw the guards as muscle. They were the brains of the operation. So long as you and your team brought them new toys once in awhile, they were satisfied. The pay, of course, was more than substantial; no one in their right mind would put themselves up to this for any less. Any day could be the last when working for a place like the SCP Foundation.

You had been stationed outside 1KA's room when you'd heard the news from passing guards. More accurately, you were stationed outside the door to get into the hall leading to one door with an observation deck and another leading to a staircase leading down into 1KA's elevated containment chamber. When they'd brought 1KA in, they designed his cell to be much like SCP-106's, an electromagnetic field surrounding his chamber to deter him from using his ability to teleport short distances.

According to the passing guards, 1KB was just outside the facility. It couldn't break in as much as anything on the inside could break out. "-hear it ain't even bein' hostile," one of the guards said, your ears perking towards the conversation. "He's just...standin' outside the gates, mopin' like he was 096's cousin."

The second guard said, "I don't like it. Nothing has ever turned itself in in the history of this hellhole being opened."

You chime in, "Are you sure it's actually 1KB?"

The two pause and turn towards you, the first replying, "Course it is. He been seen with 1KA plenty o' times to verify his identity."

The thought of the two SCP's being in proximity to each other was enough to make your heartbeat quicken. "How long has he been out there?"

"They first picked him up on camera, uh, musta been 'bout fifteen minutes ago. They're puttin' together a retrieval squad. Everyone else is to stay at their posts."

You nod dumbly. They were going to try to bring him in? You supposed they had to, with the opportunity presenting itself so willingly. The two guards walk away, leaving you to your thoughts. The hand on the gun you keep on hand twitches, the muscles tense with nerves. What if 1KB tried to break in as soon as the guards went to capture him? If the rumors were true, he'd tear the place apart in a heartbeat. You shift your weight between your feet, looking both ways down the hall before you turn around, flashing your ID in front of the key panel. The light blinks green, and the metal door slides ajar, giving you just enough time to enter before it shuts behind you.

You make your way to the observation room. There was one scientist stationed inside today charged with observing 1KA and recording everything he did on paper. You knock on the door just to avoid startling them, as you were well aware that simply opening a door without warning in this place was disturbing, to say the least. The door slides open after you swipe your badge, and you say, "Hello," in polite greeting. You knew not all the scientists were haughty know-it-alls, so until they proved they were, you showed the majority of them respect.

"What brings you in here?" she asks without taking her eyes off 1KA. You look to the screen, noting that 1KA was simply sitting in the middle of his cot, doing nothing. It looked like he wasn't even breathing. 

"Wanted to know how fast news really spreads around here."

"What news?" she asked, scribbling something down.

"1KB is outside the facility."

That made her jump. She looks to you, her eyes wide behind her glasses, but not with fear. "He is?!"

"I just heard it from some other guards," you jerk your thumb over your shoulder towards the door. 

"Uuugh, and I'm stuck here," she groans, setting her chin in her hand, her elbow propped on the desk as she goes back to observing the screen, where 1KA hadn't moved a muscle. "What I'd give to go see 1KB up close. I hear he's much more intriguing."

"I think they're both intriguing," you reply, "but in different ways."

She tapped her pen to her lips before asking, "I'm probably not supposed to do this, but could you take over this job so I can go watch 1KB's retrieval? All you have to do is jot down the time stamp on the screen once in awhile along with a note on what he's done since the last time you wrote the time."

You blink. "I don't think approaching 1KB is advisable until he's properly detained..."

"I won't be with the squad, I'll be watching from the security room with the outdoor cameras."

"I have a post to keep."

"No one's getting in without security clearance, anyway," she points out. You suppose she is right, and before you can say another word about the matter, she stands and shoves her clipboard into your hands. "I have to see this for myself," she says before practically sprinting from the room.

You sigh, sitting at the desk and looking at the screen. It could be worse, you suppose, though you realize how dreadfully boring 1KA is after about thirty further minutes of absolute silence. Your eyes lower to the page to jot down a time, and something flickers on the screen. You look back up, 1KA still in the same position. You wonder if somehow SCP-372 had gotten out; the damn bug still gave you nightmares. You slowly look down again, the screen flickering once more. Your head snaps up, wanting to catch him doing something, and you nearly fall backwards out of the chair when he's suddenly looking at you. You can't quite explain it, because he's not just watching the camera in his room; he's looking _at you_. 

You hurriedly scribble down some notes, your hand freezing when you see Dark's body flicker with red and blue tracing his features. The speaker built next to the monitor that was connected to the microphone in Dark's room crackles to life, a deep, raspy voice saying, "This is the only place you need to be. I'm the only one you need to watch." It echoed within itself, and behind his words there was a high pitched whine that hurt your eardrums. You tried to continue writing notes, but the ringing in your ears was almost unbearable. You look back at the screen, vaguely aware that in the hallway, a siren was also blaring, signifying a containment breach. Your blood runs cold, but at least it wasn't 1KA that had escaped; you'd know if it was, or you'd already be dead. 

The room you can see in the camera begins to shift, the image distorting and flickering, lines breaking up the image at random before the picture returned whole. "Stay with me," Dark instructs you. You're only compelled to do what he says for fear of him prolonging your probably imminent death if you don't. "There's so much we can learn about each other," he says, his deep voice almost soothing had the image on screen not revealed his body to be writhing in spastic flashes, his mouth open in a silent scream one moment and totally still the next. You find the courage to write down only a few more notes before you decide to bolt, clutching the clipboard to your chest as you flee the area. Behind you, you hear a bellowing laugh broken up by screams of rage.

The sound of Dark's voice is replaced by the sirens as the door slides open, the blaring in the halls having sent people scattering. You're not even sure which SCP had escaped, but you have to get the notes on Dark to somebody--who knows if the camera feed would have actually recorded anything at all of your exchange with him. You start sprinting down the hall, pushing past a scientist who shouts, "Watch it!" to your back as you run. You promptly ignore him as one of the self-righteous assholes, turning a few corners and skidding to a halt when you get to the entry to heavy containment. Most of the lights were either broken or flickering, barely holding on to enough electricity to even make them spark. When the lights did flicker on, they highlighted the bodies of eight guards, mangled and broken nearly beyond recognition. You assume this had been the team sent to pick up 1KB, if their body armor and guns were any indication. Spattering the walls and floor was a mixture of blood and a thick, black tar-like substance. It wasn't quite the same as the decay left behind by The Old Man, but you didn't want to test whether it was acidic in any form, anyway.

You begin carefully maneuvering to step around the puddles of tar, one hand on your gun and the other still holding the clipboard as if it held the secrets of life. The door into heavy security had long since been sealed tight, and you didn't have near enough clearance to get the thing open, particularly not with a lockdown in effect. Behind you, something makes a scuttling sound, footsteps echoing through the room. Your stomach knots, every muscle in your body tense. You almost don't want to dare to turn around. 

"Oohhh," a curious voice coos, "did I miss one o' ya? Yer a lucky sonbitch." You whip around, firing at will, taking your finger off the trigger when there's no one standing behind you. You hear an eccentric laugh bounce off the walls, the sound causing adrenaline to pump through your veins as you look desperately for the source. The laughing continues, almost psychotic, and you can't pinpoint what direction it's coming from. You see a flash of green through the darkness, firing and hitting nothing once more. In your ear from behind, a muffled but distinctly Irish accent says, "Boo."

You drop the clipboard, the pages scattering as it clatters to the ground. "Now look what ya did, you've gone and made a mess," the Irish voice scolds you gently before you feel a sharp claw digging into your neck. "You oughta pick that up."

"O-oh god," you manage to croak out, your throat dry, not daring to move.

"There ain't no god for you, sweet pea," he said matter-of-factly. "Now let's see here, what'cha got," you hear a piece of paper being picked up, followed by an, "Ooohhh," of interest similar to when he'd first spotted you. You're shoved down abruptly, some slimy appendage grabbing your ankle and picking you up, dangling you upside down and finally giving you your first real look at 1KB. There was some sort of extra arm growing from his back that currently had you hostage, and it looked to be made entirely of the tar you'd seen. 1KB's hair was shockingly green, and he had neon green eyes to match. Around his face was a cannibal mask, which would explain the muffled voice. You weren't entirely sure why it was there, but it didn't do anything to console you as he stepped into your comfort zone, pointing to your notes on Dark. "Where is he?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've based this version of Anti off the "goop antisepticeye" by artist Konoira. he's got some really badass stuff on his Deviantart page if anyone wants to check him out :D


	3. The SCP

You stare through the glass of your cell. It's one-way glass, but you sense the man on the other side. It isn't as though it's difficult--he's practically ridden with the disease. You set a hand on the glass, your eyes boring through your mask into the gaze of your viewer. It's enough to startle him away. You watch him leave, though this only gives you the opportunity to turn and look at his companion, a female in a white lab coat. The poor dear is also diseased. The fingers in your gloved hand arch as you grab at the flat window, to no avail, of course. If only you could be free of this room. You could help them. They could help you. Your patients were always willing to help you in return for your services.

You lower your hand, beginning to pace once more, like a lion trapped in an exhibit. You say, "I sense the disease in you." The scientist scribbles something down on her clipboard. No matter how many times you told them, they never believed you. You knew you could cure them, if only they'd listen. But it had been years of this, and only rarely did they ever send in someone to be cleansed. "Don't you wish to be cured?"

Your second question produces no response. You frown, the elongated beak of the mask blocking it. Their lack of responses was growing old. It had been weeks since they'd last sent anyone in to be healed. You'd done a spectacular job on him, too, if you did say so. But as per usual, the soldiers had detained your subject within minutes of completing your work. You doubted he was still alive. They didn't get it.

Your fist rests on the glass, your cloak swaying around your feet as you observed her. You could see glowing red veins through her skin, pumping blood throughout her body. Among the red were minuscule flecks of white. Your eyes narrowed; you pitied the woman, so blissfully unaware of her condition. 

Your mind focuses elsewhere when the electricity flickers. It was for just a split moment in time, but the scientist had noted it, too. She didn't make any movements, even when a quiet buzzing broke the silence. It grew louder, an electric whir that roared closer, abruptly fading away as fast as it had come. The scientist still refused to move, not sure what had happened. That's when you hear the distinct sound of the lock on your door clicking open.

There was a brief moment in which neither you nor the scientist moved, both your eyes fixed on the door before you looked up, eyes meeting hers. In the following moment, your hand was prying the door back, seizing your opportunity to help while you had the chance. The woman screamed, running for the exit, but it had been locked, a dull siren blaring behind it. You ignored it, as you had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Do not be afraid," you tell her, holding your hand up as you approach, "I am the cure."

She isn't consoled, but this doesn't stop you. She rams her hand repeatedly on the metal door trapping her, stopping only when you catch her wrist. "It will be over soon," you inform her, the woman dropping dead seconds after your touch. You kneel down, immediately getting to work. You open your cloak to pull out your handbag, first removing a scalpel. You tear her shirt open, cutting through her chest, dissecting her neatly and with practiced precision. You draw out a syringe next, drawing liquid from a vial and injecting it into various points on her body. You work diligently--you had to, if the cure was to be administered properly. After twenty minutes, you've successfully patched her up, sewing her chest back together with all her organs in proper alignment. Your eyes scan over her, picking up no traces of the white specks in her blood from before. You nod, knowing in a few moments your dose of the cure will kick in, and she will recover. You stand as you slip your bag back into your cloak, your head tilting up toward the door when it slides open.

On the other side, a guard, gun already aimed for you, shouts, "Freeze!"

"Oh my, yet another victim of the disease." This is the guard who'd fled previously, his veins chock full of white. You hold your hand up once more, approaching even as he fires, his bullets gashing through the material of the cloak, which patches itself back together. You grab his arm, the guard collapsing. You tsk your tongue several times as you kneel down, repeating the process you had on the woman, who is now standing behind you. 

When your work is completed, you walk to the hall, the siren still resounding throughout the facility. You don't particularly care what it's for, annoying though it may be. Your main concern is who you have to thank for releasing you from your confinement. You pick a direction and make your way through the hall, several people who spot you from further down the hall yelling and bolting in the opposite direction. There were too many to chase at once. You decide it'd be better to focus instead on finding your savior.

The cloak flows around your legs, briskly walking through the halls, searching for any signs of the cause for the ruckus. You catch something out of the corner of your eye scurry by along the ceiling, hearing insect-like chitters and clicks as it passes. _So I'm not the only one who has been freed. Truly, there must be someone to thank._

You pause in a more spacious room, your eyes scanning around at the blood on the floor. You kneel down to dip your finger in a puddle of black goo, rubbing it between your thumb and pointer finger. It was an unidentifiable substance. You straighten slowly, wondering which other prisoner this belonged to. It clearly wasn't human in nature. 

You approach the most recently deceased body, their neck snapped at an awkward angle. You bend down to ascertain whether it'd be worth trying to cure them. It occurs to you it's too late for them, so you take your hand and shut their eyelids, shortly before spotting papers scattered around their body. You pick one up, noting it was about an SCP dubbed Subject 1000-A. You hadn't the faintest idea which prisoner this was. There were many beings stuck here. A trail of footprints catches your eye, leading down the hall opposite from whence you'd come. Being your only lead, you travel down it, the sirens now off, although a red blinking light continued to flash above. 

You take your time, reserving your strength, as you aren't entirely positive what it is you're after. A passing sign reads 'SCP-1048 Class: Keter' with an image of a teddy bear. The door into the room was ajar. Had all the doors in the facility containing SCP's been open? What was the meaning of it?

A voice draws your attention, "Oi, ugly, the fuck you doin' 'ere?"

You turn your head. Down the hall, a humanoid being with green hair was facing you. He was in a defensive stance, extra appendages growing from his back, dripping with a black tar that matched the puddle in the room from before. After detecting no signs of the disease inside him, you say, "I am in search of the one who set me free."

The other SCP waves his hand, "Bah, I don't have time for that. I gotta find Dark."

"Would this Dark be the one the paper refers to as 1000-A?"

"You know him?" the stranger asks.

"No, though perhaps he knows more about my pursuit. I will help you find him."

"Ugh, fine. Just don't get in my way," he threatens, ears perking up as his gaze suddenly focuses behind you. You turn, spotting a mass of guards with guns taking formation down the hall. You hear the SCP behind you laugh, feeling a brief gust of wind as a blur of green dashes past. The men open fire, but not before the SCP is upon them, jumping on one and taking down two more with the arms growing from his back. The tar arms grasp the necks of two guards, 1KB using his regular hand to choke the life from the guard he'd jumped on and knocked over. 

A third arm bursts forth, ramming one guard back into the wall before it snatched up a gun, bashing another guard in the head with the butt of the weapon. As you watch, your face contorts in irritation. This wasn't the way to treat these diseased gentlemen. They deserved to be cured.

You walk forward as two of 1KB's tar limbs grab a guard by the arms, picking him up. You rasp, "Stop," firmly, the guard's eyes widening upon recognizing you.

1KB gives pause, groaning, "What?" in upset, as if you'd ruined his playtime.

"Let me cure them, please." 

"Cure them? Of what?" 1KB asks.

You set your hand on the side of the guard, the body falling limp in 1KB's arms. "The disease," you respond simply, gesturing for him to drop the body. When he does, you set to work, wanting to work quickly before the other bodies had the chance to bleed out. 1KB watches with intrigue, tilting his head now and then, startling when the body you'd dissected and sewed back together sits back up.

"Woooah, how the hell did ya do that?" he asks, poking at the zombie.

"I am the cure," you answer, starting on another body.

"Maybe I'll keep ya around after all," 1KB muses.

You nod idly, not giving him your full attention as you work, quietly singing, "Ring-a-ring o' roses. A pocket full of posies. A-tishoo. A-tishoo. We all fall down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sure down the road i'll do a chapter from another scp (dark and anti arent excluded from the possibilities, mind you ;3 ) i like to think the plague doctor is capable of higher thought, but he's just very focused on spreading his "cure"


	4. The Pack / The Scientist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't think it'd be a long chapter if i only did it from the view of the chosen scp so i threw in the viewpoint of another character. this is gonna be a fast paced one, bear with me! ;)

_Pain. Pain. Resist. Escape. Heat. Avoid. Pain._ Terrible pain. _Roar. Thrash. Swipe. Bite. Pain._

A creature walking on two legs approaches you again. It's wielding the metal stick--it hurts you. It glows red hot on the end closest to your skin. You screech, your roar ineffective for reasons you can't comprehend. Usually it worked. You had nothing to go on. The creatures never talked when they were around you. You needed to hear them. But all they did was poke and prod and cut and tear and they kept you chained down, relentless in their torment of you. It was cruel. You hated them. You wanted them to know your pain, but you couldn't escape the bindings they'd cuffed to your legs. 

Your brethren are near. You can smell them. Their scent lingers in the room you're in, but you can't see them. You hear them, though. Their cries imitate yours as their claws scrape at the other side of the wall, aching to aid you, to no avail.

Your leg kicks out, trying to hit the being who hurt you. It doesn't reach far, barely grazing the hard shell of the creature. You whine in aggravation, screaming again when the hot stick touches your side. Suddenly, there's relief. You hear a faint, high-pitched sound that comes and goes steadily. It isn't your pack mates. You're breathing hard, and the creature holding the stick has stopped its work, looking to the door, putting a hand up to the side of its head.

Suddenly, a light above the door blinks on and the door slides open. Down the hall, another door opens as well. Your head turns, and a metal wall slides up, your two brothers pausing to watch it. Their eyes fall upon the creature holding the stick. The two-legged being screams, making a run for the hall, clutching his metal rod. Your pack whizzes by you, their cries imitating the man's fear down to the pitch even as they jump on him from behind. One of your brothers sinks his teeth into the being's leg, his head shaking violently as he tore at the armor. The man continued to yell, trying to swat at your brother's head with the pole. You cry out in warning, a higher pitch than the man's scream. It's too late, but as soon as the stick hits your brother's head, your second pack member grasps the weapon in his jaws and yanks it from the creature's grasp. 

Your pack relentlessly tears at the being's armor, claws and teeth focused intently on cutting through the soft skin beneath the shell. You pick up the scent of blood, driving you wild. Finally, the enemy lays dead, your brothers and yourself letting out roars of victory. Your pack returns to you, licking at your wounds and nuzzling you, shortly before they tore at the metal chains around your legs. Eventually, the metal gives, snapping at the weakest links. You claw at the cuffs still attached to your ankles, but make no progress in removing them. You growl in frustration before giving up, taking a few experimental steps. When it becomes obvious you can walk, the three of you go to your recent kill to have a snack, though you wait for your brothers to have first taste--it was their kill, after all.

When there was almost nothing but the shell remaining, the three of you set out down the hall, where the sound that faded in and out grows louder. It's almost deafening, but you press onward, your pack in close pursuit.

_Quiet. Slow. Cautious. Alert._

"Is someone there?" a voice echoes down the hall from around a corner.

Your jaw moves experimentally, your tongue adjusting as you repeat, "Ss...som...n...ere?"

_Freeze. Wait. Listen. Attentive._

"H-hello? Who's there?"

One of your pack mates asks, "Hello?" while the other responds, "Who's there?"

"Hello?" you say, waiting for a response. There are a few footsteps from where the voice is coming from.

"If this is a joke it isn't fucking funny!" the voice shouts. You crawl forward, staying low, rounding the corner. 

_Target. Looks like one who hurts. Hunt._

The woman screams, followed by yelling, "No! Get away from me!" as she turns, sprinting away. You give chase, bounding after her, the chains still attached to your legs clattering on the metal ground below you. 

From behind, you hear, "No!" followed by, "Get away!" as you pounce, your teeth sinking into flesh, jaw clamping down and refusing to let go. 

_Blood. Blood. Appeal. More. Tear. Break. Bite. Food._

~~~

You were behind the glass when the doors opened. Thank whatever god was out there that you were, because not only did the door into your observation deck open, the damned cell door for the pack of SCP-939 did, too. "Shit. Shit, fuck, damnit," you mutter, helplessly watching at they effortlessly take down the poor sod who'd been in charge of trying to get a rise out of the creatures. In hindsight, not chaining down the other two and putting them in the neighboring room to their laboratory chamber was pretty damn stupid. It was too late for Smith, anyway. The cattle prod certainly didn't do him any good, either. You figure you might as well turn this into a learning opportunity. After all, it wasn't the first time someone had been lost in a grisly manner to an SCP here, and if you were going to die, then by god you weren't going to leave behind nothing for others to go on. It was all part of the job.

You watch the two free members of the pack tear Smith limb from limb. You supposed you should be thankful you didn't know him very well. It almost felt like watching an overly dramatic movie, anyway. A brow raises in interest when they turn away from the dead body, moving back to the creature still bound by chains. Your pen scratches across your clipboard, watching with keen interest as the freed SCP's actually begin tending to the wounds of the third, followed by making efforts to free it. Your lip tugs down in a frown when they succeed, but you stick around long enough to notice that they didn't actually partake in Smith's body until the third was able to join them. Intriguing. You jot that down before you hustle for the door, flagging down the guard posted outside, who thankfully hadn't fled when the sirens started blaring. Nor had he left his post. Man, this kid deserved a raise.

"We gotta get out of here," you hiss to him.

"No shit, doc. I was waiting on you," he replied, gun at the ready.

"You idiot, that thing's useless against three of them," you whisper, making your way around him, not checking to see if he was following because he'd be daft not to. "Move quickly and quietly. They're some of the world's best damned hunters."

"Very comforting, doc," your guard responds, keeping his gun ready, anyway. You lead the way down a practiced set of halls, wondering how the breach had happened and if other SCP's had escaped, as well. Being in heavy containment wasn't the best place for this to go wrong. When you deemed that you were far enough away, you take shelter by crouching in a dark side room. You ask, "Does your walkie have signal? Can you call anyone?"

The guard nods, holding the button on his mic down and hissing, "Researcher Tole to main, please respond." The two of you wait a few agonizing moments in silence before he raised his voice a notch to ask, "Tole to main, anyone out there?"

You both freeze when you hear a distant but definite, "Who's there?"

You raise your finger to your lips in the classic 'not a sound' gesture. He nods, clutching his gun. You can only hope the pack had split up to explore. It was your best means of escape. "Hello?" you hear from down the hall, closer than before. You barely dare to breath. Goosebumps raise on your skin, tingling with fear. Gradually, footsteps approach, but they don't sound like the pattern in which the beasts walk. It might even be human. 

You hold up a hand signalling the guard not to say anything yet. An Irish voice asks, "No need ta be afraid, laddy. Or lassy. Whatever. Come on out, don't be shy around lil' ole Jack."

Well, you reason that there's no way the SCP's had heard anyone with an Irish accent speak. Come to think of it, you can't think of anyone with an Irish accent who works at the foundation, but then, it was easy not to know a coworker from another sector. You finally straighten, your guard following suit and keeping his gun at the ready, to be safe.

"Sorry for the secrecy," you say, staying in the side room, "there's SCP's loose, if you hadn't noticed."

There was no reply. Your muscles tense. You feel like you're being watched, but the room you'd taken refuge in was empty. Or..."Oh, I noticed," the Irish voice replies into your ear. You jump, swinging your clipboard back full force. Your swing is stopped by a man...no, a monster with green hair, a mouth full of fangs creating a smile from ear to ear standing right behind you. His green eyes bore into you as some sort of black appendage sprouting from his back held your clipboard at bay. "Le's see 'ere, what've ya got?" he asked, taking your notes on the pack hunters. You wonder with a bout of rage why your guard wasn't firing at this thing, until you look to the side and realize his body is lying lifeless below you, a hole through his chest oozing the same black tar making the tentacles on the creature's back.

"What the hell are you?" you ask, hearing a growl from outside the room.

The Irishman chuckled darkly, not taking his eyes off the notes, "You didn't hear, then? News must not travel fast. Ooohhh, pack hunters," he cooed, almost in awe. "Well, it ain't Dark, but," he looked up in time to see a red pair of jaws cautiously poking its way into the door. A tendril shoots out from his back, wrapping around the mouth of SCP-939. The hunter snarls and struggles, backing away. The new SCP before you follows it out the door, and you hear a scuffle involving several yelps from 939 and a few grunted curses from the Irishman. 

The Irishman comes back in, brushing his hands together, "Well, you better get ta runnin'. I'm givin' you a head start," he added with a wicked grin. "Oh, and call me Anti." You don't wait, figuring either way you're doomed, leaving while you have the chance. You see 939 in all its horrific glory, struggling to pull its paws from a pool of black sludge. It looks at you, screaming, "Get away! No!" The sound seems alien coming from its throat; you recognize the voice as another scientist you worked with. A pang of remorse momentarily fills your gut, but you press on, dodging around 939 and making for the hall, hearing the manic laugh of Anti echoing behind. 

It didn't take long before you hear, "Who's there?" and, "Hello?" in quick succession, and you know the other hunters are hot on your trail. You pick random corridors, almost preferring to run into another SCP at this point. Even the Plague Doctor might be a more preferable end. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, burning its way though your system as you hear running footsteps from behind you. The last thing you hear is a shriek of terror before you feel a searing pain in your leg, a heavy weight landing on your back before the same pain rips into your neck, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer, i haven't actually played the game so i'm sorry for any inaccuracies involving the containment unit of scp 939. i just whipped up a random experiment lab room for them :3


	5. Anti / The Prisoner

You breathe in deeply, a smile spread wide across your cheeks. The smell of blood fills the air; it's invigorating. Intoxicating. A long tongue runs along your lower lip, momentarily lost in the thought of sinking your own teeth into something, someone. The feeling of fangs tearing through flesh was enlivening. From behind, the scrabble of the pack hunters devouring their kill was echoing through the hall. It's almost tempting to chain them up and bring them along, but better to leave them to stop others from following your trail. 

You crack your neck, rolling your shoulders. Your hands clap together in a crisp motion, "Alrighty Anti, focus. Don't worry Dark, I'm comin'." You jog off, the carnage in your wake satisfying as it always was. Most of the facility's halls were dark, the emergency power only allowing certain lights to be on in this area. Left, right. Right again? Sure, why the hell not. It was easier to pick a random direction than try to find a map of the damn place, anyway. 

At one point, you skid to a stop and clamp your hands over your ears--the intercom screeched with a strong, piercing blare of static that shortly cuts off. You glare at the ceiling; it wasn't quite like the sound Dark made, yet it was comfortingly similar. When you look back down, you notice a small, walking teddy bear had also stopped to cover its ears. "Awww, hey lil' buddy!" you chirp. The bear waves at you before continuing on its way. "How cute," you mumble to yourself before deciding to go down the hall the bear had emerged from. 

Idly, a hand trails along the metal tunnel, an appendage from your back joining it, creating a black streak. That ought to get people talking, if anyone came down this way. You pause when you come across a set of stairs leading down. You raise a brow--weren't you on the lower level already? What lay deeper down? With a shrug, you walk down them, not being careful to be silent. A large door stands in your way, requiring a key card to open. _Shit, I didn't think to search that fookin' guard. Bah, probably didn't have the clearance for a door like this, anyway._ You set a hand on the door, smirking to yourself. Having to do things the hard way wasn't always boring.

You scratch at the metal, rubbing the nothing you've picked from it between your thumb and forefinger for dramatic effect, regardless that no one seemed to be watching. Four arms of black sludge erupt from your back, setting themselves on the door and beginning to spread. You set your two normal hands on the door and brace your feet, turning your torso to face to the left before starting to try to force the door to slide open. The metal groans in resistance. No matter how much force you apply, the door barely budges. You grind your teeth in frustration. Dark could be behind this door, for all you knew. This gives you more drive, revamping your strength enough to get the door to slide back just about an inch. And an inch was all you needed.

You release the door, using your extra arms to slip through the crack in the door. You brace your back against the wall, planting your feet firmly on the ground before shoving forward with terrible strength, strength that had ripped men in half and bent the cannons on tanks. The door gives way enough for you to slip through. There's an empty room with a door at the far side. You put your hands on your hips. Another fucking door? In lock down, this place was a nightmare. You make a mental note to remind yourself to nab a key card from someone later before prying open the next one, which opens with must less resistance.

In the next room, there's a cage surrounding a computer on a desk. You frown as you approach it; obviously there was a reason this computer was caged. As you approach the bars, the screen on the computer flickers to life, white lines stretching horizontally across the glass fading in and out before an image of a nondescript face was left. Before you can so much as open your mouth to ask, speakers you can't see crackle to life, and the computer speaks. "Listen carefully. You need my help. And I need your help." The voice is mostly masculine, although it's extremely robotic in nature. You snort under your breath. _A computer with a robotic voice--imagine that._ Your focus returns to the screen as the computer continues, "A prisoner has disabled the remote door control system. Now, I am unable to operate the doors. This makes it significantly harder for me to stay in control of this facility. It also means the SCP you are looking for, 1000-A, is beyond your reach." An image briefly flashes across the screen. It's easy enough for you to recognize Dark sitting in a cell, surrounded by blue and red outlines.

At the new information, your brow furrows. "Wha'dya mean?"

"1000-A is in one of the most strictly locked down areas of the facility. I have been watching you, and I understand you are searching for him. If you re-enable the door control system, I could unlock the corridor leading to his cell for you. If you want to see him again, go to the electrical room, and turn it back on. Until then, I have no business speaking to you."

You start to say, "Now wait a damn-" but the computer had already flickered off, returning to a black screen once more. "I don't even know where the electrical room is!" you shout at the computer, kicking a bar of the cage, hopping back as you'd kicked it harder than you meant and stubbed your toe in the process. Well, at least it was a lead. You turn around, slipping through the forced open door. You take the stairs two at a time, pausing at the top. You hear a speaker crackle to your left, and you figure that must be the computer signifying which direction to take. "Well thanks a lot, fookin' bastard," you mutter before following his lead. 

It's easy enough to follow the commands of the AI, even though it isn't speaking directly to you anymore. When you had tried to take a wrong turn out of curiosity to see where a passage led, the intercom screeched above at an obnoxiously high pitch. "Fine, fine!" you shout, causing the shriek to die off. "Son of a bitch," you rub your ear, which was now ringing because of the volume. 

At length, there came a door you couldn't pry open. It looked like a door which would take you out of the heavy containment zone. "Boy, if only you could open this for me, eh?" you smirk at the ceiling, receiving no reply. You whistle a long note before mumbling, "Hard ass." You turn to look around, listening carefully. Surely there would still be some employees left trapped in this half of the facility. As luck would have it, a gentle thud of feet hitting the floor echoes down from a hall to your right. It's faint, but they're definitely human. You crack your knuckles, your sludge arms extending again as you climb the wall to the ceiling, taking up a perch above the opening where the hall connected to the room. 

Your muscles are tense. Your breathing comes quietly, arms poised. Waiting patiently for a target was a skill you developed long ago; the mark of a true predator was being able to wait for his prey. A smile spreads across your face in anticipation, mouth salivating eagerly, your elongated tongue sticking out like a snake's. At long last, the footsteps grow close enough for the echo to cease, a human male stepping into the room. However, he's not in the garb of a guard as you were hoping for; he was in an orange jumpsuit. You sigh--he'll have to make due. 

The exhale had the human on his toes in a heartbeat. "Hello?" he asks, frantically scanning the room. You don't move. It was always fun to see if they'd spot you, first. He doesn't--humans never look up, for some reason--and instead turns to face away from you again. He wipes a hand over his face, which is covered in sweat, likely from nerves. Well, he did have a right to be nervous.

A smirk plays at your lips, starting to crawl away from your perch along the ceiling as you follow him, staying above him. He seems to notice something isn't right. His muscles tense, and he begins to move slower, checking behind himself every now and again. It was at that time a black droplet from one of your arms falls, hitting his shoulder. He jumps with a yelp, making a complete 360 to see what had touched his shoulder, only then seeming to realize-

He looks up.

"Boo," you say as soon as he spots you, your smile wide and unnerving. He's petrified for a moment before he bolts for the door, digging--wouldn't you know it--a key card from his pocket. You drop from the ceiling, hitting the ground in a crouch. You begin stalking him without bothering to run. Let him spend his energy. His hands were shaking horribly, having to swipe the card twice before it took, the light turning green and the doors sliding open. He runs through and slams his hand onto the button on the other side of the wall, but not before four of your extra arms are holding the edges of the doors. They're difficult to manage, and the force it's taking to prevent them from closing is making your feet dig into the floor instinctively to give yourself more ground. You press forward, the doors inching further shut with every passing second, but the prisoner hasn't run off, as if waiting to see if you'll prevail. Idiot.

You begin cackling madly, imagining what you're about to do to this man with growing excitement. A low growl escapes your throat, and you lunge, the doors sliding shut behind you. The tar that makes up your extra arms slides down to encase your arms, forming clawed tips around your fingers. The prisoner sprints in the opposite direction, you close on his tail. "Come on now, I just want your card, is all," you say, not expecting it to make him slow down, which it doesn't. You laugh, glad it isn't an easy chase. As you begin passing a doorway, the man abruptly halts. You leap for him, but he ducks, and you fly over his head, rolling into a stand. When you turn around, you see him going through the door, which is now open. "Ooohhh, tricky," you smile, going after him, ignoring the AI behind you saying, "Do not go in that room." The door had led into a small room with a filing cabinet to your left and a shelving unit to the right, another open door immediately across from you. 

You see the prisoner and tilt your head--he'd gone through at least four doors, and it was beginning to look like the optical illusion caused when you placed two mirrors across from each other. That is to say, you stepped through the small room into a hallway strikingly similar to the one you'd been chasing the man down. You look back, and he'd ran through at least five more, but from this angle you could see a repeat of the same small room with the filing cabinet connected by stretches of hallway that all looked identical. "This is gonna be fun," you grin, taking off after him. 

He looks behind himself to see that you're still giving chase, and even though you're a fair distance away, it's an intimidating sight. Your claws are outstretched, smile broad, a trail of black slime behind you so you'd know which reality was yours. You begin to notice that he must be moving forward because in each intersecting hallway, there are doors closing off the paths to the right and left, and he must be hoping you give up the chase so he can simply follow a straight trail home. However, he seems as mystified as you are about the presence of a seemingly infinite number of filing rooms. You skid to a halt when a guard is abruptly standing in the hall of one of the realities, but he doesn't fire at you. Out of curiosity, you keep moving, the guard lying dead a few hallways later. Another eight doors afterward, and the corpse is floating. 

"Okay, this is gettin' real weird," you say to yourself, returning to your pursuit--you need that card. At some point, the walls around the corpse are stained red with blood, the scent pumping your adrenaline back up. You stopped counting how many fucking doors you'd passed through; it was hopeless to keep track. 

Just when you were tempted to turn back, the prisoner opens a door and almost slams into a figure on the other side. A tall figure, its head round and orange and--a jack-o-lantern. The prisoner takes a step back, and before you can even register it, the pumpkin-man snaps your query's neck. The prisoner's body falls to the floor, and you realize the pumpkin is staring at you. You narrow your eyes, arms at the ready to strike, teeth bared. Neither of you move. The air is thick, and even though its expression doesn't change, you feel like the SCP before you has gained an understanding that you're as much a predator as it is. That you're not to be tangled with.

And the moment you blink, the creature is gone. You wait a few more moments to be sure, and when it's clear the jack-o-lantern isn't going to return, you walk over to the body of the prisoner, taking the card from his pocket. "Thanks, I owe you a drink," you tell the corpse, playfully slugging the man's shoulder before whistling a merry tune to yourself as you jog back down the endless hallway. 

At long last, the black trail ends and there's a door that is shut in your way. "Finally," you sigh, just before the intercom roars to life in frustration that you took such a long detour. "Oi, fuck off!" you snarl. "I needed this!" The static and beeping dies down until the AI has calmed enough to begin leading you back to the electrical room. You wonder where the prisoner had picked up his card, guessing it was off the body of a guard who probably was met with an unfortunate demise at the hands of an SCP. You don't put much thought into it, putting much of your focus on the task at hand. Your heart is racing at the prospect of seeing Dark again, of holding him. Kissing him. Loving him. 

The AI leads you to a door that opens to a stairway leading up. You hop your way up, glancing around at the various machinery. You walk to the far end of the room, where there's a console sitting below an array of monitors. It doesn't take you long to find the lever labelled "Remote Door Control". A movement in a monitor catches your eye. It's from a camera directly outside the electrical room. You realize it's only the Plague Doctor, the SCP strolling around the corner not a moment later.

The doctor rasps, "Have you any luck?"

"I have," you reply, flipping the switch up. The monitors before you all go black, and they collectively turn into one large screen with the AI's face across them. 

"Thank you," it says, promptly switching the camera view to Dark's cell, where the door slides open. Dark stands, turning his head to face you.

You grin, setting a hand on the monitors. "I'll see ya soon," you say.

"I look forward to it," Dark replies, briskly turning on his heel and sweeping out the door.

~~~

You sit silently with your eyes shut, surrounded by almost total darkness. They had turned off the lights in your cell several hours ago. It seemed that even with a security breach occurring, some of the staff were choosing to utterly ignore the protocols, studying you instead. You supposed they'd turned out your lights to see whether you'd sleep. You take a deep, concentrated breath in through your nose, releasing it slowly through your mouth. Being surrounded by morons truly was taxing. 

You don't bother to watch them; you didn't want to excite them over your glowering hatred. Being stuck in a cell like an animal was embarrassing. Your captors were all beneath you, and it had been one lucky shot that had taken you off guard. A mistake you wouldn't allow to happen twice.

The lights above buzz with electricity as they turn back on. The corner of your mouth tugs down into a frown, and you're sorely tempted to tell them to make up their damned minds. Your ears perk up when the speaker crackles on, but your brow furrows when the human scientists on the other end don't speak. You sense another presence, not necessarily in the room, but surrounding you all the same. Your eyes crack open, and you know you're being watched by more than just your captors. You look into the camera, gaze easily passing the scientists gathered in the observation room, and for a moment, you see a mess of green hair. Anti. So he was still safe. You shut your eyes again, relief untangling a knot you hadn't realized had formed in your stomach.

Plus, with Anti free, it significantly improved your own chances of escape.

You stand, turning to face the camera directly. You hear the excited murmuring among the humans, waiting to see what you'll do next. You crack your neck, saying, "Oh, we will see what we can do." Your physical form begins to divide, three separate silhouettes, in red, yellow, and blue, respectively, stretching out from your body. It leaves your own body black and white, your three copies posing in the same manner as you. The human voices on the other side of the camera die out as you say, "Let's get started."

On the screen of the viewers, it would appear the camera was panning out and further back from you, the room shrinking and multiplying until a grid of your cell showed. A ringing pitch filled their ears, the copies of yourself fazing through the wall and into the room with the onlookers. "Now, you will learn why keeping me here was unwise," your voice booms, echoing around them, your body appearing to glitch with a roar of anger as your clones began their attack. They snapped bones, ripped through flesh. They tore into the humans, the guards firing bullets that fazed through your clones, instead hitting their comrades. It was carnage, massacre at its finest. You watched through the camera, saying, "I will teach you the meaning of suffering," with a whisper echoing behind your words. When the last human lay dead, you recall your clones, the color seeping back into your skin. You put your hands behind your back, rolling your neck.

"Perhaps I can have fun here after all," you say to yourself, looking back through the camera. There's no connection behind it, leading you to believe the presence that had shown Anti to you minutes before had left. You sit back down. You've waited patiently before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> threw ya for a loop there with the title didn't i? man this story is so much fun to write :D


	6. The Old Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hisses in breath* oohhh, it's been awhile.  
> but! i am officially moved in to my junior year of college, so i've finally gotten into the swing of things enough to feel comfortable enough to write a chapter :D leggo

You knew better than to approach the walls. You'd learned years ago that touching any of the walls of your cell resulted in an excruciating electric shock that tore at your very being. It made it feel like your very atoms were being ripped apart. This didn't stop you from pacing--it was all you could do in this damnable floating container. Besides, sitting still meant almost certain death. This was a survival tactic ingrained in you from even before your time in the facility. You had to keep moving. Being a sitting duck meant you were a target. And sitting targets on a battlefield were as good as dead.

You continue to pace, your footsteps etching along the same rotted trail you'd left burned into the floor ages ago. Walking gave you something to focus on. Left, right, left, right, left, right. It was systematic. Second nature. Left, right, left. A march that would never end. Left. Left. Left, right, left. 

The only feasible thing that could have stopped this procedure was the one thing you never dreamed would happen--the door stood open. And you were nothing if not an opportunity taker.

~

The facility was larger than you'd imagined. It was nothing like anything you'd ever seen. Luckily, steel walls and floors weren't enough to stop you. Every time you approached a closed door, it was easy to find a new way around. You'd quickly decided to avoid the basement, as some form of mimicking beasts had began to make that floor their territory. It wasn't a difficult thing to realize that more than just your cage had been opened.

Your back never hunched. You marched through the corridors with a rigid spine, your arms stiffly swinging at your sides. You slow when you hear someone, or something, in a corridor adjacent to yours. Without missing a beat, you step into the wall and phase through it, leaving behind a patch of deterioration. Moving through solid matter is still somewhat difficult, but not unmanageable. The process of forcing your own matter through a foreign body was always a slow process, after all.

You step through the other side of the wall that had kept you and your target apart. You turn your head, the gaunt skin of your face and chest reflected in the visor of a soldier who had turned to see what was approaching him. "Shit, fuck!" the soldier mutters, raising his gun. You begin walking towards him even through the gunfire that rings so familiarly in your ears you've become practically deaf to it. The skeletal smile and dead eyes reflected in his helmet grow larger, bullets doing nothing to deter you. "Join me," you say, your vocal cords so haggard from lack of use the command is barely comprehensible. The man screams, deciding too late it'd be better to run, but by then, you'd touched his shoulder. He disappears, sucked through a black vortex of rot and decay in the floor. You stare at the spot a moment before sinking into the hole yourself, joining the soldier in your pocket dimension. 

The first room was always the test run. The soldier was grabbing his head, no doubt trying to make sense of the blurry mess of halls surrounding him. Moving through walls was a much simpler task here, and you keep an eye on him as you walk in a counter-clockwise ring around him. You phase through the walls, giving him three laps to find his way, as you gave all your unwilling participants. The man was looking around in sheer loss. Very rarely did anyone pick the correct hall on their first attempt. You continue your march, your vision blocked once in awhile by the walls you step through, but you're able to keep track--one lap down.

Down one hall, you see him finally settle and meander blindly towards a hallway (the incorrect one). You finish your second lap as he reappears in an identical copy of the first room. Your laugh echoes eerily in the maze, bounding through the endless tunnels of the labyrinth. The man whimpers in fear and frustration. It was kinder to put them out of their misery, sometimes. 

You begin your third lap as the soldier heads towards a new random hallway, but then something happens which has never occurred before. A second figure drops into the room behind the soldier. Your brow furrows--it was entirely possible for other subjects to fall victim to your trap doors, however, this new figure didn't seem phased. In fact, his eyes immediately land on the back of the soldier, and no sooner had you stepped through another wall and reappeared in the next hall had the new figure suddenly split into three, a red and blue copy of the first man lunging forward to grab the soldier. The original man stepped forward, his movements choppy but brisk, taking either side of the soldier's head and swiftly breaking your prey's neck. The soldier collapses, and you stare in dumbfounded rage that this interloper thinks he has the authority to kill people in your domain. 

You roar in anger, the sound surrounding your new target on all sides, but it doesn't have the desired effect. The man simply recalled his clones, rolling his neck when he was one figure again. And then, to your surprise, he turns to look directly at you. You were far enough back in the hall where he shouldn't have been able to make out your form, yet he so easily picked it out among the others. Your eyes narrow. He doesn't move. Neither do you. 

He breaks the silence, his own voice reverberating around the enclosed space as loudly as yours had, "SCP-106. It is good to make your acquaintance."

As per usual, staying in one spot is causing you to get twitchy. You walk towards him, each step slow and deliberate. "Who are you?"

"I am darkness at its peak," he replies, "though I just prefer Dark. The simpletons who think they're in charge of the facility which has caught you and I have taken to referring to me as SCP-1000-A. I doubt that you've heard of me. I'm a very recent addition."

Your head tilts, "What is it you want?"

"I came to offer my services in exchange for your own. I can help you escape, if you do something for me."

"...I'm listening."

~~~

"You damned fuckin' computer, take me to Dark! You agreed!" you slam your fist repeatedly against the door you'd previously pried open, now sealed shut. The AI which had helped you free Mark had only done just that. It hadn't bothered to lead you to his holding bay. You supposed you probably should have expected as much. All the same, you'd backtracked to the computer's cell to rant. "So help me, if I manage to get into that room again, I'm gonna rip your motherboard apart!" The intercom above didn't even dignify you with a screech or any sort of static. You yell in frustration as two arms of black sludge join the fray, scratching and shoving at the door, but it seems that the AI having control of the door systems allowed it to hold this one shut a bit firmer than before. "Mother fucker!" you shout, punching the metal one last time. 

You turn to set your back on the door, sliding down to sit on the floor. How were you ever supposed to find Dark in this place? You drum your fingers in thought, the beat slowing as you hear a sudden sound akin to boiling water. Metal groaning abruptly accompanies the noise, and you don't even notice it's coming from behind you until a figure grabs your shoulder. You don't even have time to whirl around to kick the ass of whoever had gotten through the door before you realize you're not even sitting in the same room. 

You frown and stand, sitting in the middle of a circular room with a multitude of halls leading away. You turn around to see an aged man standing behind you. He looked like a walking corpse, skin sunken and wrinkled. "Oi, the fuck was that for?" you snap, but the figure simply sinks into the floor, revealing the figure standing in the hallway behind him which he'd been blocking. Your mouth hangs partially open, almost afraid it was some sort of trick. "D...Dark?"

"Anti," Dark replies, stepping into the dim light of the room, "at last."

A smile breaks out across your cheeks, and you leap forward to embrace him. Dark was never much of a hugging type, but you're the one exception. He sets his hand on the back of your head, pulling you forward into a strong kiss. You reciprocate eagerly, throwing your arms around his neck. When you part, you ask, "How'd you find me?"

"With the help of a new acquaintance," Dark replied, the old man stepping out of a random hall to your left. "With his help, escaping this facility will be a much smoother process."

"Great, well then," you smile, "le's go kill some bitches."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a shorter update than usual, i might revisit the old man later. no doubt i'll use him again at some point, but i gotta wrap this up eventually somehow anyway X3


	7. The Shy Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes its only been a few days right i should update that one scp f- *checks calendar*  
> oh.  
> oh dear.  
> but jokes aside, i've said it before and i'll say it again: i'll never leave a fic unfinished, even if it takes yknow a month or two between chapters at a time. *cough* (sorry)

Your weeps of distress are the only sound accompanying you in your cell. That's okay, though, you prefer the solitude. Your own company is always preferable to the presence of...anyone else. Your head hangs as you sit in the center of the room, knees up and hands folded across them, elbows able to prop themselves on the floor due to the unnaturally long length of your arms. The cement floor is cold, but you can't bring yourself to move. Puddles of blood have stained the flooring from countless experiments involving people being forced to look at your face. Your hideous, horrendous face. You couldn't bear to look at it, much less live through the thought of other people looking at it. It was better they had captured you and locked you in here. You had no idea how long it had been.

When one of the doors of the cell opened, you didn't budge. Let people come in, pass through if they may. So long as they didn't look at you. 

Soft sobs continued breaking the silence. They were all there was to listen to, until a door sliding open created a new sound that even you couldn't ignore. It meant someone was coming. Your weeping intensifies, beginning to heave heavier cries at the thought of the possibility that whoever was coming might see you. You hear hurried footfalls cut through the room, a male muttering, "Oh shit fuck oh God above help me," in quick succession as he went. He reaches the second door, which was closed, and that's when you feel it. He must have turned to make sure you weren't following him. And in doing so, he had looked at you.

You scream in agony. You bury your face in your hands, devastated that he'd viewed your face. No, no, he can't live with it. How could he, when you yourself couldn't? It'd haunt him every waking moment of his life. You had to help him. You had to put him out of his misery.

He got through the door and shut it, but this does nothing to deter you. Your long fingers easily pry the door open, guttural cries continuing to emanate from your mouth. The man shouts in surprise, turning to run, but it was too late for him. You rush at him, long arms extended, hands grasping. You manage to tackle him, anguished cries cutting through the hallway as you tear into him, your jaw unhinging as you howl your apologies, ripping him apart and consuming limbs piece by piece. It was better this way. Better for both of you.

You breathe deeply as you begin to calm down, no trace left of the man. The poor soul. You tuck your legs back up, tears streaming down your face, quiet, broken sobs echoing through the halls. You remain in this position for several minutes, maybe hours--it was hard to keep track. Suddenly, you feel a prickling, nagging sensation. Paranoia seeps in, and your head whips up, your gaze directed into a camera. You knew it. You were being watched. Another unfortunate person had seen your face. You scream, taking off at a full sprint, crashing through door after door. You had to help them.

~~~

"Eugh, it's disgustin'," Anti says, watching a nearly white humanoid SCP devour a guard via a monitor. The door the guard ran through had done absolutely nothing to stop this creature. 

From behind his shoulder, you nod, "Rather inelegant, yes, but intriguingly determined."

Anti said, "What's wrong with it, why's it cryin'?"

"I don't know. We can look for the files on it at a later time." You notice that as soon as the guard is dead and utterly gone, the SCP on screen calms down, sitting where the corpse had been only moments ago. 

"Tha's so weird," Anti said, studying the screen. "Maybe he just hates people."

You set a hand on Anti's shoulder, "Maybe. But we should keep looking for other ways out of here."

"Right, yeah," Anti said, switching the camera a split second after the pale SCP had looked up at them. He flicked through them relatively quickly, not wanting to waste more time. One camera was aimed at a seemingly empty room, but upon switching the camera to night vision mode, two hidden figures were revealed: pale, hairless humans, possessing elongated faces with smiling mouths lined with needle-like teeth. Another camera in a hallway showed the Plague Doctor stitching up another victim. The next camera showed a rounded SCP with stubby arms and legs. Its mouth was in the middle of its head, two eyes on either side of it. The SCP was only on screen for a brief moment, the feed cutting out and returning to show it was gone. "Fuck, what do ya think that one was?"

"Disgusting," you reply, lips tugged into a frown of distaste. 

Anti snorted, "I thought it was kinda cool," before continuing to click through the various camera feeds. 

He was scrolling through them at such a pace that he passed a room full of a yellow-green liquid, and you had to say, "Stop, wait. Go back," to make Anti slow down. He clicked back a few screens until he'd reached it again. "There," you point to it. "Now what could that be?"

Anti said, "Looks like a room full of vomit, if ya ask me."

You shake your head, "While I wouldn't put it past this place, it looks too fluid. Not quite thick enough for bile. I'd like to visit that chamber."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes," you reply simply, setting a hand on the monitor and shutting your eyes. As you concentrate, you feel the pull of electric currents, the connection from the screen directing you to the location of the attached camera. You open your eyes again, "It's deep in the facility. You up for a walk?"

"Am I ever," Anti grins. "Here's hopin' we run into some more prisoners along the way."

You nod, "I hope so, as well, for your sake. It'd be good for you to burn off some of that adrenaline."

Anti stood, making a point to step on the dead body of a scientist that was currently mangled on the floor to gain some height. "I can think of another way to do that," he smirks, wrapping his arms around your neck.

You take a deep breath, "Not now, Anti." You trace your fingertips along the side of his head, gently brushing over his pointed ear, "There are other matters to tend to."

"Aw," Anti pouts, "rain check, then."

"Indeed," you say, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek. 

Anti says, "Let's go," before hopping off the body, walking to the door. You follow closely behind, as Anti was apt to abruptly become distracted and wander off. As soon as he opens the door, a scream pierces its way down the hall to you, and he shuts it immediately after poking his head out. "Fuckin' hell, that fuckin' crying mother fucker is here!"

"What?" you ask, hearing a banging on the other side of the door. You pull Anti back, remembering this SCP's talent with opening doors. Sure enough, as you throw Anti behind you, the metal groans as white fingers claw their way into the crack between the door and the frame. "Run," you command sternly, keeping your arms spread out as your body begins to flicker, your form phasing in and out of reality before splitting into three clones. 

Anti snaps, "Where the fuck d'you expect me to go?" as the sobbing SCP pries the door open further.

"Away from here, as soon as I've got him," you reply, your Red clone moving forward as soon as the door is ajar. The SCP charges forward, crashing into Red, who was shortly joined by Blue. The two of them manage to hold the SCP back, but it's proving difficult. It's thrashing and in hysterics, trying to get at Anti for all it was worth.

Anti growls, "Oh just let me at him, if he wants to tussle with me so bad."

"You're a fucking moron, sometimes," you say with grit teeth. "You saw what it did to that guard."

"Yeah, but I ain't a pansy. I wanna wrestle with him, lemme at him!"

"No," you say firmly. "You can't."

"Watch me," he says before jumping into the fray. Red and Blue each have one of the unnaturally long arms of your opponent, but it's pulling with all its might, mouth open and wailing. Anti laughs as he ducks under one of the arms, getting behind the SCP and latching onto its back. 

" _Anti_ ," you snap, but it's too late to pull him away. Anti's claws are deep in the shoulders of his assailant. Black tendrils shoot out of his back, bracing him against the wall behind him and the floor as the SCP tries to dislodge him. Anti giggles gleefully, and even though you don't approve of his actions, you find yourself enraptured. Your clones release the SCP before their bodies meld back into your own, and you step back to watch the carnage. 

With the use of its arms, the SCP reaches behind itself, grabbing at Anti, trying to pull him off. However, with Anti's tar arms aiding him, the SCP makes no progress. It continues sobbing grossly as Anti shouts, "Calm down, ya piece of shit. What's the matter with ya?" He proceeds to grip the SCP's neck with two extra tar arms, its cries choking out. The SCP grabs at Anti's hands, but they simply get stuck to the black ooze. Anti chuckles joyfully, clearly enjoying himself as he choked the life out of his target. When the SCP at last keels over, Anti relents his grip, brushing his hands together. "There, what'd I tell ya?"

"I still think you're an idiot," you reply. "We should go before it wakes up again."

"Yeah, probably," Anti gives the SCP a swift kick before turning back around, checking the hall once more. "Which way is this vomit room?"

"There's an elevator down the hall to the left."

"Works for me," he says, starting to whistle as he walks off in the appointed direction. You glare at the body of the unconscious SCP before stepping over it, shutting the door behind you. When it woke, it could rot in there, for all you cared.


	8. The Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo boy its really been another month hasnt it? i am just the worst  
> but hey i have watched some creepy shit to get my creative juices flowing so what better time than to write an scp fic?

The door to your chamber opens. You sense the presence of the human in the room more than you see him. After all, you'd need to borrow his eyes to be able to do that.

A guard shoves a prisoner forward, the man clad in white free of handcuffs. He stumbles into the room, landing roughly on his hands and knees as the door shuts behind him. Without him even realizing it yet, your lure has been set in place. All there was now was to wait. And you were used to waiting.

"Let me out," the prisoner bangs a hand on the glass of the window of your room. "What are you sick bastards gonna do? What's in-" he turns, finally spotting you. A white porcelain mask on a pedestal. Your smile is eerie, off-putting, but that doesn't stop the man from coming closer. All part of the lure. 

A voice whispers in the back of his head, " _Put it on._ " Your voice. 

He hesitates. They almost always do, unless they're particularly weak willed. It only ever took a few minutes, tops, regardless. You whisper again, the voice cutting through his skull, " _It's a beautiful mask. What could happen?_ " Plant the seed of an idea that takes root and grows into a thought. " _Put it on._ "

As expected, the man slowly draws nearer to you. He holds his hands out, trembling slightly as he takes hold of you. He picks you up, turns you over in his hands a few times. He gently strokes a finger down your cheek. " _Put it on,_ " you whisper with a more assertive tone.

And he does. He sets you on his face, and you mould perfectly for his features to not fall off. He ties the strap on you around his head to be safe, and from there it's smooth sailing. His thoughts are yours. His memories are yours. Under your compulsion, he takes a deep breath. Human mannerisms were so interesting.

You stretch a hand out in front of you and flex your fingers, observing them. It was no use trying to convince the people behind the glass you were the same prisoner; that's why they gave him to you, after all. To study what you'd make him do.

You had a few ideas.

You turn and walk to the glass and stare through it. There are three people watching you. One of them has a clipboard. The mingling of your spirit with any host was always a thrilling experience. It made you feel whole; having a body under your total control was exhilarating in its own right. At the same time, knowing the host still had consciousness struggling for control over their actions made you feel all the more powerful--all the more alive.

You hold a hand out, and given you had no other weapons, you dig your fingernail from your opposite hand into your upheld wrist. You scratch at it until the skin breaks, blood beading up, but it's not enough for what you need. You tear into it more, opening the gash until you have an ample amount of liquid to begin writing a message on the window:

"I am your undoing."

Your host smiles beneath the one on your form. He giggles, beginning to laugh madly as he smears blood over his hands, wiping it on the glass. You use his voice to say, "I'll get out of here one day, and when I do, I'm coming for you, spineless worms." You can feel the exhaustion creeping over your host as he loses blood; coupled with the gas now being poured into the room, he won't last much longer anyway. "You've no idea what you've wrought," you say as your host sinks to the floor. He falls over and dies, the gas quickly choking the remainder of his life from him. You, on the other hand, undo your form-fitting to the man's face and go back to waiting. They'd have to come put you back on your pedestal at some point to test some other poor sod.

No matter how many times you'd killed people, they were never satisfied with the results. 

~~~

You crack your neck as you make your way down the darkened halls, Dark close behind you. The two of you had made your presence in the facility well known. SCP's and humans alike were avoiding you. That, or they were cowering in their offices until the lockdown had been taken care of. You had the distinct impression all the soldiers had made their way outside to prevent anything else from getting out. Damn, did you look forward to getting out.

"How far did ya say this chamber was?" you ask, tone bordering on whiny.

Dark replies, "We're going to have to find stairs or an elevator. It's deep underground."

You brighten up at that, "Ahh, could we make a pit stop and gather up those hunter things? I left 'em on a lower level. They oughta still be there."

"I think it best if we left them to their own devices," Dark says with an underlying tone of distaste for the creatures. "They are not yours to control."

"I beg to differ. I made myself their Alpha, and those sons'a bitches know it," you retort.

"Regardless, we don't know what else we will be facing in here. Best not to endanger them."

"I guess you're right," you frown, kicking the arm of a corpse as you pass it by. The smell of death had saturated the entire facility. You feel a swell of pride knowing you'd contributed to a good portion of the carnage. Then again, the ways in which some of the bodies had been left begged the question: what killed them? Surely there were a plethora of SCP's you hadn't had the pleasure of meeting yet. Not that you were concerned; with Dark at your side, you could accomplish anything. Nothing much posed a threat to you in here. Not yet, anyway.

The air in the halls was dry and frigid. The air vents kept circulating, pumping fresh oxygen throughout the building. For all you knew, it was actually a gas meant to suppress a specific SCP. The white lights above flickered, some broken and others sparking. The sound of your footsteps alongside Dark's echoed ahead and behind you. Dark was never much one for small talk.

There was an unfortunately small amount of living humans left. In fact, the last live one you'd seen you had the pleasure of sinking your claws into back when you'd broken into the security camera room. The rest of the soldiers, scientists, and prisoners were either dead or extremely good at hiding. The lack of conflict made you twitchy. You make a strangled sound out of sheer boredom, stopping to grab your face and shake your head. Dark stops after taking a few steps ahead of you, turning his head and raising a brow in silent question.

"I need to kill somethin'," you say through grit fangs. 

"Quell your primal urges," Dark says, stepping towards you. 

"No," you snap, "I need to do _something_. We need to take a detour. Maybe a brawl with another SCP will help me focus."

Dark rolls his eyes, "Very well; let's see what we can find."

You charge ahead, certain Dark can keep up. You pick hallways at random, leaving a trail of dark ooze just in case. Eventually, you come across a locked door with an SCP sign next to it: SCP-035. You don't care enough to read up on it, grabbing the keycard in your pocket and swiping your way into the room. There's an array of equipment littered with buttons and levers, and a window allows you to look into the adjoining room. Inside, a figure paces, already looking at you. He looks human enough, and he's wearing a porcelain comedy mask.

"Thank God, someone found me," he says, a speaker in your half of the room crackling to life.

You narrow your eyes as you step closer to the glass, "The fuck are you?"

"Please, I'm just trying to get out of here. I think this mask is killing me from the inside, or something. I need medical attention."

You give the man a once-over. He doesn't appear to actually be panicking that much for believing himself to be dying. You turn your head when Dark approaching from the side catches your eye. Dark immediately looks suspicious, "And who might this be?"

"Listen, we don't have a lot--I don't have a lot of time," he corrects himself. "But I know my way around the compound. If you let me out of here, I can show you the way to the nearest exit, and I can get myself to a doctor."

You mumbled, "Oh I know a doctor I'd love to send in there..."

Dark sets a hand on your shoulder, so you silence yourself. "And what exactly makes you think we ought to give any credit to your claim?"

The man says, "I get why you don't trust me. But please, I really need your help." Dark doesn't reply, instead taking a moment to look around the room. As he browses, the man continues, "If it helps earn your favor, the passcode to the door behind you is 5-7-3-1."

Dark gestures for you to test it as he continues his search of the control panel. You turn around and move to the locked door a few steps away. You type in the code, and to your surprise, the light switches to green and the door opens to unveil a small storage unit with supplies. "Checks out," you say over your shoulder.

"See?" the prisoner says. "You can trust me. I mean, if you really want to run another test, I guess you can."

Dark's gaze settles on a dial marked with "Gas On" and "Off." He looks back into the room and says, "So you won't mind if I do this, first," as he reaches towards the dial.

"What are you...wait, no!" the man says before Dark switches the dial to the "On" position. Gas immediately is spat into the room through a pipe on the wall. The man chokes and gags, sinking to his knees. He chokes out, "I can't...breathe, please..." as he sets a hand on the glass. Dark waits another moment before turning the dial back off. The man gasps for air, a hand around his neck. "Thank you," he says, "but was that really necessary?"

"Stop pretending, or the gas gets turned back on," Dark says, and you can't help but feel slightly aroused at Dark's domineering nature. "Tell us who you really are."

"Alright," the man replies, although his voice is now much different. It's taken on a more demonic tone. He stands back up, and the comedy mask has switched to be the frowning tragedy mask counterpart. "You've made your point." You blink at the sudden change, thinking maybe you should have read the sign outside the room before coming in here. "I've taken over this pathetic excuse of a host. However, my influence does deteriorate them rather quickly, so I was in fact telling the truth. If this host dies, I'll have to wait for some other imbecile to come in here and put me on."

Dark straightens, commanding respect and order with his aura alone. "And were you also lying about knowing the layout of the facility?"

"No," he says, tilting his head, "as a matter of fact, I do know a few routes that could be of interest to you, assuming that is your goal. I'd be happy to tell you about them in exchange for my freedom."

Dark said, "And how do I know we can trust the information you give us?"

"A life for a life," the mask replies evenly. "Let me out of here, and I'll forget about the little gas incident. Besides, if you let me out, I have no reason to lie to you. The pair of you could easily break me. I'm just asking, one monster to another, for a chance to live and thrive using these pitiful worms as sustenance."

You nod, "Ya know, I can get behind that."

Dark glances to you but nods, "Very well. You don't need to be warned what will happen if you try to run off without telling us anything."

"All too aware," the mask says.

"Clear that storage room of anything useful," Dark instructs you, and you obey, moving into the previously locked room to rifle around. There's a document on the SCP you'd just met, along with a small orange pill bottle. You shrug and pick up the pills, opening some boxes and finding nothing else of interest. "All good in here," you say as you join Dark back in the control room.

Dark sets a palm on the button labelled "Door Release" and presses down. The mask turns its host's head, watching the cell open. He walks out as you and Dark do, the three of you meeting in the space that connects the two rooms. The SCP raises his hands, "We had a deal. The easiest way to get out safely is probably Gate A. The security is pretty high, but if you manage to sneak past the guards and reach the lower level under the bridge, there's an unguarded service tunnel. That's your way out."

Dark judged his words and nodded, gesturing to the door leading into the halls. The tragedy mask flips back into a comedy one, the man walking past you and through the opening. Dark waits a minute to let the SCP get out of hearing distance before saying, "I do believe he was being honest with us."

You nod, "But we have other things to do first, right?"

"Yes. As long as the facility is in lockdown and they haven't sent in special forces, I'd like to make sure there aren't any potential assets we're missing that could aid in our escape."

You smile, "Not leavin' without raisin' hell first, eh?"

Dark grins in return, "Seems rude not to leave a parting gift."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i noticed after re-reading my last chapter i had a few stupid grammatical errors due to the fact i usually write in word which takes care of minor things like adding apostrophes for me so i don't use the wrong kind of "it's" like some sort of fool   
> ahem  
> anyway please excuse any stupid grammatical errors


	9. The Sleep Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back baby!!!  
> it's me, whilst hanging my head in shame bc i don't think i've ever gone this long without updating a fic  
> ...my bad

You and your companion are motionless. You've been half starved since being locked in this facility. You release a long, strained breath. Your companion responds with a similar ghostly whine. Your captors haven't sent anyone new into your chamber for days. Preserving your strength is a matter of being able to not move for days, but maintaining the only energy you have left to stay alive has become a struggle, and if they don't send someone in soon, you and your kin are sure to perish. 

Of course, they were known to do this sometimes. They wanted to see what you'd do to prisoners after they'd purposefully avoided feeding you. You whine again, unsure if your captors can even hear it, much less whether they care. Your physique was too frail to bother with trying to break down their metal doors; thus, your life and the lives of your brethren were completely at the mercy of the scientists.

Your head turns as the door light blinks on, as do the heads of your brothers. As if on cue, not just one, but two human subjects were shoved into the room. You catch a brief glimpse of a man in armor wearing night vision goggles standing on the other side of the door before he shuts it again. But he doesn't matter. All that matters is the dinner you've just been served. And they can't see you.

The two prisoners look around, completely unaware of the presence of you or your cohorts. One of them says, "Dude, what do you think this is?"

"Does it even matter? They've sent us here to die," the second man replies, sitting down. "Might as well just wait until whatever monstrosity they have in store is released into the room with us." If only they knew. Without even realizing it, both the men had been bathed in a pulse of energy created by you and the other creatures. It might take them a couple hours to realize they could no longer sleep due to the wavelength you were emitting; unfortunately for them, you probably couldn't wait that long. Ordinarily, it was more fun to let the prey lose their mind due to lack of sleep before striking. However, you hadn't eaten, and your stomach was gnawing on itself. Though it created no noise, your mouth does as you exhale another breath of anticipation. This promptly spooks the second man, who was practically sitting on your feet.

He jumps, and the first man jumps in response, asking, "What, what happened?"

"Did you hear that?" the former asks.

"No, hear what? Oh God, it's happening," he whips his head around, still unable to see you.

"It was like...I don't know, like a ghostly wail carried by wind. It sounded like it was far away, but..." he looks up towards the source of the sound which he had no idea was the source of his imminent death. You look down at him, knowing he could sense you now, though trying to see you would be fruitless. 

"But what?" the first man asks frantically. 

"Shut up, shut the fuck up!" the second snaps, continuing to look around. Sometimes the waves emitted when you were starving had that effect on people, triggering bouts of anger for no apparent reason to those who didn't know you were there. "It feels like it's...right here," he calms enough to say, reaching out and touching your leg. He yelps before yanking his hand back and causing his friend to jump yet again. Your face is already plastered with a gaunt grin, mouth filled with needle-like teeth as you hiss out another breath.

The man scrambles away from you while the second man runs back to the door, having the sense to bang on the metal barrier with his fists, to no avail. "Please, let us out!" he screams, pounding the door repeatedly as one of the other SCP's walks towards him. You continue stalking after the one who'd touched your leg, reaching your hands out towards him. You couldn't wait anymore. Damn the fact that he hadn't been driven insane by lack of sleep; you needed food _now_.

~~~

"So, remind me of the plan," Anti says. You were leading the way down what you were fairly certain was the hall that would bring you closer to a Keter-class SCP. On the way, you had plans to make several pit stops for SCP's you found particularly interesting. However, you knew Anti's patience would be wearing thin again any minute; he hadn't actually had the chance to maul the host of the comedy mask. It was obvious that trying to convince Anti to spend unnecessary time researching the other creatures held here would be of no interest to him. Therefore, it was only a matter of buying time, convincing him that you were working towards escaping and that these were all stops that had to be made. Of course, ensuring your escape would be extraordinarily simple. This facility simply wasn't equipped to hold you. 

But so long as he didn't know that, you respond, "We break out the most dangerous creature in the building."

"Ooohhh, sounds like fun. Do we get to ride it out of here?" Anti asks.

"No," you reply. 

Anti pouts, "Aw, then what's the point?" 

"The point is creating a distraction. They don't equate me to be on the same level as this SCP. Foolish of them, I know," you say due to Anti's look, "but they haven't held us long enough. They've barely scratched the surface."

"All the better. I don't want 'em knowin' shit about me," Anti grumbles.

"No, you don't. The more information they have on you, the more likely the odds increase of them detaining you again."

"You make it sound as if this place'll be standin' by the time we're done with it."

"It won't be, but if you think this is the only place they have for housing monsters, you'd be mistaken." You pause to observe a sign, noting some strange fixtures built into the hall walls on either side. Holding a hand up to make Anti pause, you step forward and stop, the walls on either side of you suddenly crackling and shooting out beams of lightning. Anti yelped in surprise, and in another instant, the hall is back to normal. You nod and continue onward, Anti following with a little more trepidation. 

"Wow, I'm lucky as shit that I never ran into any of those," Anti says.

"Yes, we are. As I was saying, the end goal is to create a distraction to draw attention away from our own escape route. But before we can even consider releasing the SCP I have in mind, we need some supplies. You've actually already obtained one."

"Really?"

"Yes. The pill you showed me out of the supply closet that the man in the mask told us the combination for. I saw in another document that it can heal all wounds. It is bound to come in handy, should either of us get into a tight spot."

Anti scoffs, "Please, as if they'll be able to land a scratch on me."

You reel on him, saying, "Do not doubt them." Your voice rattles the walls, echoing down the corridors with the power backing your words. "They may not be able to hold us, but they are experienced killers of our kind. If one thing doesn't work, they'll try another until something does. What humans lack in brain power, they make up for with determination and a stubborn will to dominate things they don't understand." You settle down, and the darkness that had seeped into the halls around you fades back into light.

Anti rubs his arm, mumbling, "Seesh, okay. I'll just kill 'em before they get the chance to experiment much."

"You do that," you say, rubbing a hand back through your hair to smooth it before continuing, "the next item on our list is a gas mask."

"For what? You can breath most noxious fumes, right?"

"It isn't that kind of gas mask."

"Oohh, so it's an SCP?"

"Correct," you tug on the lapels of your suit-jacket. It bugged you when your uniform wasn't crisp. "To my understanding, when worn, it temporarily transports the wearer to another dimension." As you speak, you find yourself entering a hall with an elevator at the end, indicating you were heading in the right direction. "As long as you wear the mask, you remain in another world."

"And...we need that, why?" Anti asks, not taking note of where you were leading him.

"Because if you become cornered, you can wear it to avoid danger."

"Come on, what if I wanna face the danger head-on?" Anti punches the air in front of himself.

You give him a tired look, "You truly are too reckless for your own good. And I'm the one with the ability to phase my physical form so that nothing can hit me." You reach out a hand to press the button for the elevator, the doors sliding open as you lower your hand. "Hm, kept on this level," you say to yourself, wondering why the elevator didn't have to lift or descend itself to your floor. Nevertheless, you say, "We'll have to follow the service tunnel this elevator should connect to. It will bring us to another elevator that should get us further down."

"Sure," Anti shrugged, trusting your judgement. You enter with him close behind you, and even though your eyes are fixed on the door, you can feel Anti staring at you. Your eyes flick to the side to meet his gaze, and he immediately looks away again. He'd never admit to pining over you, though you caught him at it constantly. And it did flatter you that he was so strongly attached.

The elevator jolts to a stop and the doors slide open with no _ding_ of any kind. You supposed this was to lessen the odds of being found by an escaped SCP in the event of a lockdown. You step into the tunnel before you, the air stale on this level. You take a few steps and pause, Anti almost bumping into you from behind. You lift a hand before he could ask what the holdup was. You weren't even entirely sure yourself, and that startled you. You didn't know what exactly it was, but you could feel something. Sense another presence in the area. You narrow your eyes, straining them to catch any sign of movement. Abruptly, as your head slowly turns, an insectile being rushes by your peripheral vision. 

Anti snaps, "Damn that guy," from behind you. He must have spotted it, as well. "I saw that fucker before; it's like ya can't see him straight on."

"Shush," you hiss, waving a hand to make him shut up. Even after the bug had gone, the feeling of being watched remained. Tentatively, your body begins to flicker until a red clone walks in front of you. It makes its way down the hall, and even though it doesn't physically collide with anything, you can tell the exact moment it phases around a humanoid being. A being you can't see. 

"There's something down the hall," you say, and almost instantly, Anti shoves his way in front of you.

"Where?" he growls, using his tar to grow claws, crouched low in preparation to pounce. 

"Whatever it is, it's either camouflaging itself, or it can't be seen by the naked eye. But my clone felt it."

"Well, should we get back in the elevator?"

You frown, and the red clone makes its way back towards you, stopping as it envelopes the invisible creature again. "It hasn't moved, I don't think. But this it where it is," you point.

"Don't mind if I do," Anti grins, giggling as he sprints forward. He leaps, and your red clone flickers out as Anti collides with seemingly open air. Anti stabs down repeatedly in various areas, only feeling a connection with a body with several blows while others miss. He isn't sure whether was he was holding was human shaped, if it was made of tentacles, or if it had gills and fins. Moreover, he didn't care. If he couldn't see it, he wasn't prepared to wait to find out how threatening it was. As he slashed at it, he could hear rasping breaths, airy wails of either pain or anger. And then he felt pain rip through his shoulder. "Agh!" he growled, blood spurting from a sudden piercing through his skin. This didn't stop him from continuing to try to feel out his enemy, digging his claws into limbs he couldn't see.

"Anti?" your brow furrows. Where you were originally complacent to sit back and watch him kill whatever was in your way, it clearly had the ability to fight back. The hall grew darker as you focus your power. Your eyelids flutter as light around you bends, holding out a hand and pulsing out energy that distorts the immediate surroundings. For a brief moment, light was reduced to such a wavelength that reveals a tall, pale, slender man. It was hairless and had an elongated face, and Anti was currently clinging to its torso, his legs wrapped around its waist to his back. It was holding his shoulders in turn, biting into him again. Anti growls in a feral manner, using the brief moment of being able to define his enemy to slide his claws through its skull. In another moment, it must have fallen over, because Anti suddenly collapsed to the floor.

You release your hold on the lighting, the hall returning to its normal, dismal state. Anti allows the tar claws to melt away before clutching at the wound on his shoulder. You approach him, asking, "Are you alright?"

"I've had worse," he chuckles. "Ain't worth usin' those pills, in any case."

You nod; you figured he'd say as much. "Then we should keep moving, in case they hunt in pairs."

"Roger," Anti nods, and you make your way down the tunnel. Behind you, another invisible SCP watches you go, mourning the loss of its brother and vowing to avenge him--they'd try to sleep eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably in the next chapter or two i'm going to introduce a couple scp's that aren't found in the game "containment breach," per a good suggestion by "Crystel the Wolf." the unfortunate side of this is, as they mentioned to me, there are literally thousands of scp's to sort through. i've only gotten through about 200 of them and picked out about 6 i potentially want to include in the story  
> on another note, i'll hopefully get around to wrapping up some of my other fics shortly, meaning i'll have more time to dedicate to this one meaning hopefully faster updates!! i'll do my best, i can promise you that :D  
> on yet another note, i'm doing a quick poll: if you've read my game grumps vampire-au fic you've seen this already, but i'm curious if any of you watched hannibal, ship hannigram, and would enjoy reading a demon-au i'm going to be writing for it? i won't start it for probably another couple weeks, depending on when these other fics get finished up, but i'm just curious how people feel about it!!


	10. The Angel

Your eyes blink open groggily. You're somewhat parched, but you have just woken up, so it's only natural. You rub a hand over your head, your dark hair pulled back in a long braid. You realize you were awoken by the sound of the door to your cell sliding open. You peer down from where you've attached yourself to the corner by the ceiling; there was a bed provided on the floor, but it was nice being up high. They also had been kind enough to provide you with a toilet and chair, although the chair had been replaced more than once, to the irritation of the scientist in charge of observing you. He never directly said so, but whenever he came in to see that the chair had been broken yet again, he always got a look in his eye. 

"Rise and shine," the heavily-armored guard said as he rapped the barrel of his gun against the wall. Rather, not a gun that fired bullets, but a special type of gun. He wasn't in here to feed you--they kept the room well stocked with non-perishable food and drink to reduce the amount of times they actually had to send someone in. No, he was here because the concrete walls of your room were becoming too torn up. Again.

"Good morning," you reply calmly, not coming down. He knew as well as you did that you couldn't simply choose when to lower yourself.

"Things are lookin' rough in here," the guard said idly.

"Yes," you say shortly. You weren't one to flat-out ignore someone when they addressed you, but that didn't stop you from being annoyed by some people's incessant need to state the obvious.

The guard motioned a hand as if to beckon you down, "We haven't got all day, pal."

The sound of grating metal changed his tone. You keep a steady eye on him as your special limbs adjust themselves, quite literally. You had no control over what your rusty metal wings did. The flat, layered iron bars of your wings screeched as they moved, accompanied by the sound of chains gently clinking together as they dangled from the bottoms of the bars where secondary and primary feathers would be on a normal bird. The bars were connected by rivets, making the wings relatively flexible, and the chains hanging from them were of varied lengths, but each had a barbed arrowhead at the tip. These were currently latched into the concrete walls, suspending you in the air. Abruptly, your right wing yanks, tugging until the barbs in the wall come loose. You swing down with only one attachment to the wall, the barbs of the left wing being pulled out as gravity plays its part in getting you down from the corner. 

You land roughly on your feet, the wings weighing heavily on your back. They flap themselves slowly, not enough to lash out the chains, but enough to make the guard raise the nozzle of the gun he carried. It was attached to a tank on his back which shot out a sticky foam that was one of the only effective methods of keeping your wings in place.

You say, "It is alright. I do not think they are aggressive now."

He kept the nozzle raised regardless, "Whatever you say. Look, you know the drill, you gotta get to your other chamber while we patch the place up."

"I am well aware," you respond dryly. It was hardly like this was the first time. Ever since they'd brought you in, you had been cooperative to the best of your ability, though sometimes your ability didn't matter, as your wings decided more often than not to not comply with the rules. 

~~~

The maintenance tunnels weren't overly expansive. They were actually relatively straightforward, set up in a grid-like pattern. You were silently hoping to find your pack down here, but to no such luck. You figure they must have went hunting in a different location. You toss a ball of your own tar between your hands, flicking drips of it everywhere, although you're exceedingly careful not to let those droplets make contact with Dark's suit. You let him take care of keeping an eye out, knowing he was more perceptive than you, anyway. 

Before you even make it to the elevator, you groan, "Can I go ahead and catch up with ya later?"

"No," comes the immediate response.

"You can move faster on your own, though."

"I can, but I prefer you don't get lost in here."

"I'd leave a trail," you swipe your hand across the wall, smudging it with black ink for emphasis. 

Dark pinches the bridge of his nose before turning to look at you, "There are any number of creatures in here we know nothing about. With your...aptness for letting your curiosity get the better of you, I deeply prefer keeping an eye on you to ensure you don't do anything stupid."

"I get yer concern, but as if we ain't two of the strongest things in 'ere," you scoff.

"Don't be so sure," is all Dark says in reply, "but if you're so desperate, fine. You can scope out the area ahead. Keep an eye out for an SCP-339. I heard some guards mention it."

Your smile splits your cheeks as you respond, "Will do." You run ahead until you finally find an elevator, prying the door open and using your tar arms to climb the inner shaft. There's no draft in the vertical tunnel, and your appendages make an echoing sloppy sound cascade down to where Dark waited for the actual elevator to pick him up. You form two more arms to pry open the next door from the inside and make your way back to the main floor of the facility. You rush down the hall with the intent to stay ahead of Dark, more so that he couldn't stop you from investigating fun-looking rooms more closely. The lack of guards and scientists is disappointing, although the bodies littering the place do bring a certain amount of joy to you. You chuckle as you pass a corpse with the intestines ripped out of the gut. Cute. Whichever SCP had done it must be an amateur. 

You remember to actually make a marking on the wall to make back-tracking easier before taking some random turns. From what you understood, there was no rhyme or reason to the ordering of the cell numbers. The only obvious sorting was that more dangerous SCP's were kept in lower cell blocks. So anything up here that you deemed worth looking in to would definitely not be a threat to you.

You mutter, "Did he say three ninety three? No, nine thirty three. Wait..." you scratched your head as you tried to remember which SCP Dark had said to look out for, but the though is driven from your mind as you come across a cell with a sign reading SCP-70: Metal Wings. "Now that sounds like a fun dude," you smile, making your way to the door. You flash your card and enter as the door opens. You look around, eyes suddenly narrowing at the empty room.

"You are no guard," a voice from above you says.

Without thinking, two arms erupt from your back to shove yourself forward by placing themselves on either side of the doorway. You turn on your heel, baring your fangs as tar melts down over your arms to form claws. Suspended above you is what appears to be a Native American man with metallic wings holding him up on the wall. He doesn't appear particularly threatened; however, his wings begin to flap violently, and you realize what had been holding him up wasn't the wings themselves but the chains attached to them. And those chains were currently scraping along the ground in a taunting manner, the bone arrowheads scratching the floor with a gentle tone akin to a hiss. 

"Do not make any sudden movements," the man instructs you.

"Bitch, I don't take orders from anyone," you retort, although you don't move, at least not until you know more about what you're dealing with.

"Please," he says, with a tone bordering on begging, "it is for your own good. I cannot help what happens to you."

"You seem awful concerned for my well bein'. I'm touched," you reply, remaining in a ready stance.

"They are my protection. They don't take well to threats."

You smile slowly, "If they're meant to warn you when danger's comin', they did a shit job," before you dart forward. In a clang of metal, the wings quickly fold themselves in front of the man to form a sort of cocoon-like shield, the chains interlocking behind him to seal it. You ram into the metal wall you didn't assume would be there, taking a few steps back to shake off your arm where your shoulder had collided with it. 

The wings clink and grate as they unfold, revealing the man's face to be solemn. "I'm sorry," he says, right before one of the wings swipes out, the chains whipping forth with terrifying speed. You barely manage to jump back in time, but one of the arrowheads still slices your cheek open. You growl at the stinging sensation as the second wing mimics the first, but when it doesn't connect with you, the two wings stretch down to hit the ground and push the man forward. The wings lash out again, and you use a tar arm to block the arrowheads, which become embedded in the substance. They pull themselves free with relative ease, the barbs now encased in your tar. You try to press forward to take a stab at the man, but his other wing acts as a barrier between you. You form another arm to grab the top of his wing, prying it away from him and pushing the other back with the first arm, leaving the man exposed as your tar melts between the iron bars and fuses the rivets together. The wings are flapping madly as they attempt to loosen themselves to no avail.

As you walk forward slowly, the man asks, "Why do you wish to kill me?"

"Tends to happen when you attack people," you retort.

"I did not mean to. My wings act of their own volition. I cannot command them more than you can command the weather."

"Is this you askin' for forgiveness? Is this s'posed to make me want to spare you?"

"No," he says, still utterly calm. "I only wished for you to indulge my curiosity. These wings are a gift, but also a burden I do not understand. I request that if you still mean to kill me, you do so quickly."

You narrow your eyes. It isn't part of your nature to spare anyone--never has been. But in this case, you figure, he'll suffer more by remaining alive. And he could be handy, later. You satisfy yourself by taking a step forward and using a claw to cut a slow gash into his cheek. "There," you grin, "now we're even." You throw him into the wall, and he crashes unceremoniously to the floor, tar remaining stuck between the gaps of his wings, which are still trying to wriggle themselves free. 

Before you leave, you hear the man say, "Thank you," from behind.

"Don't make me change my mind. But you owe me for this," you reply, not turning around as you leave the room. You imagine you had better get back to what Dark had sent you to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> titles can be deceiving ;)  
> this SCP was based on SCP-70, not found in the game  
> there's a few more action based chapters coming up! i've been through more scp's and chosen a few more I like, but there's obviously no room to fit them all or i'd be writing until i was on my deathbed. that said, this story probably has about five more chapters left in it, at a rough estimate. but hey, if people throw me scp's they wanna see dark and anti fight, i'm all for it! :D


	11. The Daughters of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter features SCP's 40 and 29, not found in the game. i really liked the idea of pairing these two for reasons you shall soon see!  
> *Important note: This chapter starts in the point of view of a scientist and switches to Anti's

"Are you ready to go in, Doctor?" the guard stationed at the door to the containment cell asks.

You take a deep breath and nod, sliding a pair of night-vision goggles over your eyes. Even though SCP-40 was never usually hostile, the knowledge of what she could do didn't sit well. The door hisses open and the guard waves a hand, signifying it was now alright to enter. You step into the room, immediately hearing the door slide shut again behind you. There are no obvious cameras, but they're obviously watching. Always are.

What looks like an eight-year-old girl kneels before you, petting a creature designated SCP-040-1j. However, it's painfully obvious just by looking at her that she isn't at all human. Her hair is a bright pink in coloration; it's brittle and falls out easily, resulting in short patches of it across her scalp. One of her irises is yellow, and the other is bright green. On the left eye, the green one, the sclera is black rather than white. By all accounts, she's blind from that eye. The cell is kept in the dark due to her skin's extreme sensitivity to light.

As far as the creature she was currently petting, no one had a name for what the thing actually was; it looked like a child's drawing come to life. Which, you supposed, made sense. It walked on four legs, and it was covered in a thick coat of pink and blue fur. The entity had no eyes, and it sported a broad mouth with blunt teeth. The fact it was capable of climbing up vertical surfaces made it all the more unsettling. Occasionally, SCP-040 used it as a mode of transportation, as it was only slightly larger than she was, herself. 

Floating in a corner behind her was SCP-040-1c. It is a spherical organism capable of flight by means of rubbery bladders filled with helium. The entity has eleven limbs terminating in opposable digits, and its respiratory system allows it to replicate a wide variety of musical patterns. At the moment, it seems to you that it is playing a nursery rhyme. 

It doesn't surprise you that the final of the three instances of SCP-40 is currently being worn by the young girl herself. This particular creation of SCP-40's was special; it was recovered alongside her, and testing showed it used to be a cat. It was still alive, usually serving as a jacket or sweater for the girl, and it survived by absorbing nutrients through her bloodstream. The other scientists liked to refer to it as, "A polymorphic symbiotic organism capable of changing size, shape, color, and texture in reaction to its environment." You recall that once they tried to separate it from her; the end result was messy and caused SCP-40 not to trust anyone coming into her cell for weeks. 

She looks up at you and smiles. You smile back, in spite of the nerves fluttering in your stomach. She trusts you, and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to start to think of her as a surrogate. "Hello, Forty," you say.

"Hello, Doctor Habernathy," she replies. "Are you going to run more tests today?"

"Only a couple questions," you assure her. Her manner of speaking like an adult never failed to be unsettling. "Afterwards, we're going to have another lesson."

"Okay," Forty responds. 40-1j lolls its tongue out of its mouth, looking at you even though without eyes it should have had no concept of where you were.

You focus your attention back on Forty, "Can you tell me about your parents?"

Instead of answering, Forty says, "Does Sprinkles bother you?"

"...Sorry?"

Forty tucks her hands under the pink and blue monstrosity and lifts it. If it were a dog, you were positive it'd be wagging its tail. Forty says, "Sprinkles isn't going to hurt you."

"I know, honey," you respond. "Please answer my question."

"Mr. Green said that I don't have any parents."

You offer a small smile, "Can you tell me about Mr. Green, then?"

"He was nice, but he wasn’t very good at talking. He would would would a-always talk l-l-like like this." You put a lot of effort into retaining your smile--her abrupt change in tone was disturbing, to say the least. She continues, "But he wasn’t there a lot of the time. Most of the time it was the nurses looking after us."

"I see," you say, hoping Dr. Izawa in the neighboring room was recording the information. "Well, would you like to start the lesson now?"

"Mhm," Forty hums, setting Sprinkles down. It shakes off and crawls its way to the wall before proceeding to climb it. It sticks itself in a corner comfortably.

"Alright. Today, I want to talk to you about biology."

"But we talked about biology last week," Forty pouts.

You falter, not wanting to upset her. "Well...we can talk about art?"

She ponders that for a moment before nodding and saying, "Okay."

"Okay," you glance to where you know the camera is located. "What sort of things do you know?"

"There's many kinds of art," Forty says. "There's drawing, and painting, and sculpting."

"Very good," you nod. 

"I want to try it," Forty says before you can say anything more.

This makes your grin fail. You'd always felt bad that you weren't allowed to bring art materials, or anything for that matter, into the room with you without explicit permission. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but you'll have to wait to try art on a testing day."

"Then today's a testing day."

"No, I'm afraid it isn't."

You swear you feel your heart stop when 40-1c abruptly stops playing music. Forty asks, "Why not?"

"We don't have the test room set up for you," you reply calmly, the goosebumps raising on your skin giving away your true emotion.

Forty tilts her head, "They don't want me to have any art supplies, do they?" She scowls, "Doctor Logan never lets me have anything fun. He says I'm 'too dangerous to allow contact with anything physical.'" You flinch as her voice replicates your colleague's perfectly.

"Alright, how about this," you quickly say, keeping your composure, "let me talk to Dr. Izawa and see if we can't set you up with some drawing equipment."

"Really?" Forty smiles.

"Yes. Just give me one moment," you say, forcing yourself to smile back. The door opens for you as you make your way towards it. Forty makes no attempt to follow you, and you feel relief wash over you when you hear 40-1c begin to play another melody as the door shuts. You lean so your back hits the doorway, setting a hand on your chest. 

The guard asks, "Everything go alright in there?"

"Could've gone better," you respond, knocking on the door into the observation room. The door opens, revealing Dr. Izawa sitting inside, her hands folded over her lap.

Dr. Izawa says, "You're lucky we have a box of toys at the ready for this."

"I know," you sigh, walking to a shelf to pick up crayons and paper. "Thank God she hasn't given Sprinkles claws and fangs, yet."

"We can only hope it stays that way," Dr. Izawa replies. You steel yourself for having to enter the room again, even though Forty will have no reason to be upset anymore. Children with the ability to manipulate matter were plenty of cause for concern. Not to mention your next assignment for the day was ten times as dangerous.

~~~

There was no sign of 339 that you could see. You remember to mark the walls once in awhile so that Dark wouldn't have a problem catching up with you whenever he was done scoping out whatever area he deemed important. You had no sense of where you were within the compound anymore; you'd long since given up trying to make sense of the layout of the place. Either nothing looked remotely familiar or it all looked the same. 

You tried to pace yourself, not wanting to get too far ahead of Dark lest he be angry with you for becoming lost, but you couldn't help yourself. There was an itch to explore, and the more you explored, the more your odds increased of finding something to eviscerate. You smile broadly to yourself at the thought of tearing something open, practically drooling at the mental image. You shudder with delight and start to move faster. It becomes clear to you that you might have taken it too far when you finally think to stop and realize this was definitely a new wing of the facility. You'd gone deeper than you'd meant to. You glance behind yourself, not hearing or seeing anything except your tar trail. Nodding in satisfaction that you could easily find your way back to Dark, you continue on.

Your exploits eventually bring you to the doors of an elevator. You stop to consider, looking down the halls on either side. You shrug and draw a down-arrow on the wall beside the doors before swiping your card, the light turning green and allowing entry. You step in and note that this elevator seems larger than the first one. You press the lowest floor number on the keypad, but a screen lights up, asking for identification clearance. You sigh and swipe the card again, narrowing your eyes when it comes up denied. "Son of a bitch," you groan, pounding a fist on the screen. It doesn't do anything in response. You consider your options before an idea sparks into your head and you grin slowly. A giggle escapes your lips as you move to the center of the elevator. You look up and use your tar arms to punch upward repeatedly. The ceiling dents, then dents again, and finally breaks open with a metallic shriek. You shove the arms upwards, the metal groaning in protest as you tear it open anyway to widen the gap. When it's open enough, you use your arms to pull you up to the roof of the elevator. You smirk and say, "Goin' down," before using a clawed hand to slash through the thick, reinforced rope holding the elevator up. 

The elevator jerks before it plummets with you remaining on top, screaming, "WOOOOO!" in excitement as it falls. You shoot your tar arms out to stick to the walls, grabbing the ropes they make to act as a bungee-cord as the elevator continues falling below. At length, it crashes to a deafening halt. "That was fun," you say before making your way down the shaft after it, lowering floor by floor with the aid of your extra appendages. You easily drop the last twenty feet without suffering any damage. You have to pry your way through the doors at the bottom, the debris of the elevator only mildly inconvenient in that effort. The strength needed to pry the doors apart causes you to growl; it was like working with the doors into the sentient computer's room all over again. 

Finally, you crack it enough to get a proper foothold, using your tar to force it open. You slip between the doors and out into a pitch black hallway. Fortunately, you're no stranger to dark places. You blink several times and wait for your eyes to adjust, keeping your ears alert in the meantime. Your vision clears up enough for you to see that you'd found yourself in Heavy Containment. The very walls were different here, everything layers upon layers of reinforced steel. The floor made no echo as you walk on it, making you wonder if it was purposefully sound-proofed. The thought stirs a sense of unease within you, and going back for Dark suddenly seems like a much smarter idea. You are just about to turn back before you hear a female voice say, "Wait."

Even if you hadn't planned on following the order, you do. It's inexplicable; there's just something about the voice which makes it impossible to disobey. Your head turns towards the voice, fangs bared--she'd only instructed you to wait. "Who's there?" you ask.

It takes a moment to actually make anything out coming down the hall. While at first it looks like a floating white shape, it soon becomes apparent that there is a humanoid figure attached to it. Rather, there's a splotch of white skin on the shoulder and neck of a human female who is otherwise entirely pitch black, blending her in almost seamlessly to the surrounding darkness. Even her eyes were like two voids in her head. She looks relatively young and walks with a gait which emanates strength. Behind her are two guards, their guns aimed not at her, but at you. Your eyes flick down to a smaller figure between the two men, a young girl with pink hair riding on the back of what looks like a fluffy pink pillow with a mouth and stubby legs.

The woman leading the procession says a word, but it might as well have been a foreign language. She continues, "I am the daughter of darkness." Her voice is raw power; it sounds ancient, knowing. "Who are you?"

"Anti," you hear yourself respond before even getting the chance to consider it. 

"Anti," she responds as if rolling the name around on her tongue. Testing it. "You are...opposite?"

"Anti is my name."

She grows closer with every step, her gaze locked on yours, and it's utterly impossible to try to look away. "Anti," she repeats, merely feet away now, "you are not human."

"No, I'm not," you say, using every last ounce of your will to shoot out a tendril of tar at her neck. To your surprise, she dodges it, slicing upward with what you're fairly certain is a clipboard, but it blurs so fast in her hand that you barely have time to register what it is before it manages to cut your tar arm in half. The detached half falls and splatters into a puddle. You stare at it a moment before looking back up, stiffening as she appears almost directly in front of you.

She sets her fingertips on your cheek, "Be still. You do not behave as other men do."

"Fuck no I don't, if you mean men like them," you look to the two guards stationed behind her.

"Men are malleable," she replies, dragging her marble-smooth fingers down your skin, making it crawl. Her cold hand settles around your neck, only slightly tightening around it, "But your spirit is stronger. You will be a grand ally."

"I ain't an ally to anyone except Dark," you snarl before realizing your mistake.

She tilts her head at that, "You are an ally to darkness? We have that in common. Unless...you refer to something else?" You focus your entire being on not responding, but then she commands, "Speak of what you mean."

It's as if the words wrenched from your mouth aren't even yours anymore. You respond, "Dark is the name of my ally."

"Is he here?"

"He's...nearby," you admit.

"Is he like you?" she asks. "Does he have great strength of spirit?"

"Yes," you answer almost immediately.

"Good. Bring him to me." She drops her hand from your throat, "I will be here."

You nod and turn, ducking your way back into the elevator shaft. You start to climb, thinking, _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ as your limbs work like automated machines. You aren't even fully out of the shaft before it sinks in that there's nothing to be done; whatever will she's enforced upon you, it's impossible to fight it. And somehow, you understand equally that if Dark doesn't follow you willingly, you're going to make him.

Whether you want to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a good ole english major, i must cite my sources. some of the dialogue from 40 and Dr. Habernathy was taken directly from the website:
> 
> http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-040
> 
> p.s. i apologize for how often i can only imagine the tense changes in this chapter. i have to constantly remind myself to write in the present tense and i often get carried away and fall into old habits


	12. The Burning Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again my lovely readers! this chapter starts from Dark's POV and features scp 457, which is not in the game. if you'd like to read up on it, there's a file page for it here:  
> http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-457  
> i'm tweaking him a little for the sake of the story ;)

You idly run a finger through the tar trail smeared along a wall. You identify it at Anti's, unless an SCP in the vicinity has the ability to replicate such bodily excretions, which is no doubt possible. You rub the substance between your fingers, which becomes more tacky the longer you fiddle with it. You wipe it on a clean patch of wall before it has a chance to attach to your skin like glue. Anti's ability to create tar from acquired blood had many uses.

Your footfalls echo on the metal flooring as you walk. The only sound you can detect is mechanical groans and whirs coming from within the walls and much deeper within the compound. You remain on the lookout for any indication of a certain SCP, a page of the file of which is folded in your jacket pocket. You don't like to be unprepared. Information is knowledge, and knowledge is power. The more knowledge you had on a subject, the more influence you had over it. Which is precisely what you supposed drew you to Anti; you couldn't understand him. For all the studying and testing you'd done to him, he was full of surprises. But you were learning.

A clang down the hallway freezes you in your tracks. The metallic ring bounces past you and down the hall. Your neck cringes as you crack your head to one side, causing any lighting in the area to be extinguished and casting the hallway into darkness. This doesn't affect your vision at all, so you continue forward, making sure to lighten your steps. The static of a radio catches your attention. Your head tilts as you pause again to listen, picking up on a radio signal ahead of you.

Your body appears to start dissolving, feeling out the waves emitted by the radio held by what you have to assume is a guard on patrol. A tingle ripples through your arm once you locate the signal, and in the blink of an eye accompanied by a fizzle of static, your body travels through the radio waves, landing you directly behind an armored guard. The guard freezes, his sixth sense telling him that he was no longer alone. He whips around and lifts his gun, clearly startled to see you in his night vision goggles.

You tilt your head slightly to one side, your voice ringing out, "Go ahead. Fire."

The fool does as you say, although you chalk it up to a fear response more than following your challenge. Your form fades and flickers as it pulls itself apart into three beings, your Red and Blue clones remaining in an identical position to your own. The bullets whiz through your non-corporeal forms, leaving you smiling smugly at him. He reaches a hand to the side of his helmet to hold a button, saying, "I have eyes on 1KA, repeat, eyes on SCP-1000-A."

"Did you miss me?" you say, making sure to say it loud enough for his microphone to pick up on it. There were eyes all over the facility; it was hardly like your location was a secret. 

"Stand down!" the guard instructs, trying to sound much more confident than he was letting on.

Your chuckle reverberates through the area, causing the man to start shaking. A movement behind him catches your eye, a blur of green crawling along the ceiling. You lift your hands and say, "Very well," and draw your clones back into yourself. The guard doesn't fire, but he doesn't draw closer, either. "Tell the rest of your unit to run."

Before the man could register why you would say that, a drop of tar falls onto his visor. He reflectively fires upward as Anti drops down, colliding onto the man while ignoring the bullet holes inflicted in his torso. Anti ferociously tears his claws through the armor, using tar arms to pin the guard down as he uses his hands to dig into the man's skin. He easily pierces through, the tar attached to him suddenly becoming like sponges, spreading through the guard's skin and sucking up blood as he comes into contact with it. New tar begins to fill the wounds pierced in Anti by the bullets while also pushing the bullets out. The guard's screams are cut off, his voice becoming strangled through the pain. Within seconds, he no longer has enough blood to supply sufficient oxygen to his brain, causing him to pass out and let Anti finish him off. 

As Anti straightens up and withdraws his extra appendages, you say, "Nice timing. So, what have you discovered about the layout ahead?"

"There's an elevator which now has access to the lowest floor back there," Anti points behind himself. "I ran into someone. Someone who wants to meet you."

Your eyes narrow in suspicion, "Someone, or something?"

"Both," he admits, beginning to look twitchy.

"I see. And this...person. Why do they wish to meet me?"

"Guess you could call it a business proposal," Anti grins.

"I am surprised to hear you did not report that I work alone," you reply casually, delaying while you think.

"I'm afraid she ain't takin' no for an answer."

It doesn't escape your notice that Anti's hands are slowly being covered in tar. "I'm afraid we do not have a lot of time for such excursions."

"It shouldn't take too long," Anti assures, though he still appears to be ready to go on the offensive.

You decide that right now it's better to play along. You nod and sigh, "Very well. Lead the way." It isn't difficult to surmise that Anti was under the influence of some sort of SCP, which was impressive given his resilient nature. Anti, however, seems satisfied enough with your answer to simply turn and begin leading the way. You follow to ensure he doesn't suddenly resort to violence, as even though you know you could handle a fight against him, it is something you would prefer to avoid for both of your sakes.

As you walk, you take special note of any signs for SCP holding cells you pass. Among those passing by are signs for "Thingmaker," "The Harvested Man," and even "Unpredictable Pogo Stick." One in particular catches your eye. You experimentally pause to see if Anti is listening to whether or not you are following. He continues on his chosen path down the hall, giving you just enough time to turn down a separate hallway. A quick glance around reveals the ceiling is lined with an obscene number of sprinklers, as are the walls. There are two doors ahead of you, one straight on and one on the wall to the right. You hurry to the doors, knowing that Anti will soon notice your absence. You flash your key card for the door on the left and slip inside, grateful you'd chosen the door to the observation room. You set a manual override on the panel which stops the card scanner from working on the opposite side. 

You note it had grown significantly warmer in this room than it had been in the hall. A window with a metal shield covering it from the far side covers one wall. You take a moment to rifle for a file on the SCP in the adjacent room, ignoring the abrupt slam coming from outside. You dig through a filing cabinet and withdraw the file you need: "457--The Burning Man." The banging grows more persistent as Anti tries to break the door down, succeeding in denting the metal. You ignore it and scan over the buttons on the control panel below the window. You lift a lever labelled "blast shield;" a hum fills the room as the metal shield over the window is slid up and out of the way, revealing that inside the room is a small flame on a pedestal. It is no larger than the flame produced by an ordinary candle, although the flame isn't attached to any sort of wick.

You press a button labelled "wood" and look up in time to see a panel in the wall slide up, opening a small box built into the wall with a piece of firewood in it. Almost immediately, the candle flame leaps from its pedestal through the air, immolating the log upon contact. The log burns faster than any you'd ever seen. The flame grows in size, now approximately equivalent to a soccer ball. The door to your left begins to groan as Anti tries to force his tar through it. You press another button labelled "fuel" and set your hand on the secondary switch. The ball of flames 'rolls' to the floor as a pipe is ejected from a neighboring wall. The flames eagerly approach it, appearing to stretch up to meet it. You hold down a microphone button and say, "If I turn on this fuel source, will you serve me?"

A speaker in the room crackles to life as the fire responds, "Yes, yes, give me fuel. I need fuel."

You have no choice but to take its word, turning the secondary switch on. A small amount of gasoline dispenses from the pipe, which the fire is quick to latch on to. It rapidly begins to expand in shape and size, momentarily disappearing into the pipe, igniting the gasoline from within whatever fuel source they had hooked up to the cell. The wall in the containment unit explodes, chunks of debris hitting the glass of the observation room and cracking but not shattering it. The sudden explosion had caused Anti to cease trying to enter the room in exchange for preparing for whatever was behind the second door, which you now observed as a humanoid figure of fire stepping out of the new hole blasted though the wall. Its head turns to the glass, and then it begins to approach. It holds a hand against a crack in the glass, and you can feel the waves of heat making their way into the room. You slam the blast shield lever back into its original position, properly sealing off the room. You walk to the door and undo the override, letting it hiss open. 

Anti is standing on the other side, gaze fixed on the door on your right. Anti asks, "What did you do? Why couldn't ya just come quietly?"

"That isn't my style," you respond calmly. "Besides, you'll be fine." You hold your key card up to the door into the Burning Man's enclosure. The light switches green and the door slides open, unleashing an intense wave of heat. Anti grimaces and holds up his hands, his tar building up a shield in front of himself. You say, "457, do try not to kill him, but hold him back for me," in the hopes the Burning Man knew your voice now and would actually follow your command.

As it happened, it did both. The fiery figure moved slowly, giving the sprinkler system a wary glance. You say, "I assure you, this is no trick. Hold him down," you point to Anti. 

The burning man hesitates another moment but steps forward, laying its hands on the tar shield Anti had set up. The tar begins to bubble almost instantly and starts dripping down to the floor, the structural integrity compromised due to the intense heat. Anti looks affronted that something else could affect his tar, but he knows better than to engage without proper equipment and retreats back down the hall. The burning man begins a slow trek after him, and as it bypasses you, it creates a momentary feeling of standing in a furnace. The heat is sweltering, and while you needed the distraction, you can't afford risking the SCP burning the entire facility down. You rush back into the observation room and hit the red "emergency sprinklers" button just before hearing the whooshing rush of water dousing the hallway. 

You pick up a random piece of paper and turn back to the door. Your feet slosh through the already gathering puddle of water on the floor as you exit the room, the feeling almost blissfully cold in comparison to the heat. You see a small ball of flames jumping at the walls, trying to avoid the floor which is gathering water at an alarming speed. You hold the piece of paper down and the burning mass gladly jumps onto it. You are quick to throw it back into its containment unit, as you don't trust that even with a soaking suit, it would not try to use you as a fuel source, next. You shut the door and turn to see if Anti is waiting down the hall, but he isn't. 

What you do know is that even if he retreated for now, he won't give you the option of coming quietly again. You crack your neck and sigh to yourself. They always made things difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know my posting schedule is terribly hectic, that's my bad :( right quick, i know i haven't been entirely clear on whether Anti has a finite supply of "tar" up until now, and the whole blood diffusion thing was just a new idea of mine. i'm sorry it's being implemented so late into the story!   
> as always, thanks for the reads and the patience!!


End file.
